#pictured in his met gala art piece

[sillysymbol]

Cc theory part 3

Even though pirplexa's fashion sense would stereotypically associate him with coleoptera I think orthoptera is his favorite insect order. I think it is probably nostalgic and their fat bodies and high, almost self-destructive ambitions are charming to her. The ability of such wild creatures to occasionally find their way into the smoke and cement wastelands of the urban environment is probably very endearing to him. He probably lets them hitchhike in her car until he gets somewhere greener.

this is true and canon except pirplexa does not have a car she rides a bicycle everywhere

[imavillainok]

Sae Itoshi x Reader

Masterlist / Menu

ー ♡꒱・！Tags！ : itoshi sae, female reader, oneshot

Pairing [ Itoshi Sae x Fem reader ]

ー ♡꒱・！Summary！ : A famous midfielder and a famous artist met at a charity event. Their paths crossed as they both approached a striking art exhibit displayed for the event. Sae, feeling somewhat bored at the event, found himself entranced by the artwork. It was there that he noticed you, who was also taking in the stunning pieces. Your eyes briefly met, and you offered a warm smile.

In the heart of Barcelona, a lavish charity gala was taking place under the night sky. Sae Itoshi, the charismatic pro soccer player, enjoyed a rare evening off from his grueling training schedule and was invited as a guest of honor to this elegant event.

Meanwhile, you, the internet celebrity and artist, were in Spain for an art exhibition. With thousands of followers, you were known for your stunning and beautiful paintings, which had earned you an invitation to this charity event while in Barcelona.

As the gala unfolded, the glittering lights and the exquisite ambiance set the stage for a serendipitous encounter. Sae, donned in his impeccable black suit, stood near the entrance, observing the crowd with curiosity and perhaps a touch of nervousness. On the other side of the room, you, dressed in a breathtaking evening gown, were introducing yourself to fellow charity supporters.

Your paths crossed as you both approached a striking art exhibit displayed for the event. Sae, feeling somewhat bored at the event, found himself entranced by the artwork. It was there that he noticed you, who was also taking in the stunning pieces. Your eyes briefly met, and you offered a warm smile.

Sae, known for his occasional arrogance and bluntness, wouldn't typically initiate contact if someone caught his eye. However, you decided to approach him, wearing that captivating smile of yours, which, as Sae knew, had the power to melt the ice within any man's heart. But it seemed Sae was an exception. He did, however, admire the way the fabric of your dress highlighted your figure and the captivating colors that adorned it. Sae cleared his throat.

"Good evening, Itoshi Sae, the famous Japanese midfielder, are you?" you asked, your tone tinged with excitement.

Your voice carried a hint of starstruck awe, and Sae was well accustomed to admirers, but your genuine interest intrigued him. Sae stared at you. He didn't say anything, but his look implied an "..of course, who else?"

You were taken aback by his rudeness. "My name is Y/N, and my friend is a huge fan of yours," you said, extending your hand for a handshake.

Sae was slightly surprised by your forwardness. Most of the girls who approached him for autographs or pictures seemed like nervous wrecks. Yet, here stood a confident, striking lady who introduced herself without hesitation. Sae slowly took your hand and gave it a gentle shake, his signature serious expression as he studied you from head to toe.

You turned your attention back to the artworks in the display and asked, "Are you here to check out the art displayed here?"

Sae finally spoke. "Yeah, I am. I hadn't planned on being here tonight since I usually like to rest on my off days."

He was being his usual blunt self, but you were aware of that. Sae's serious demeanor only seemed to intensify.

Sae locked eyes with you, and his curiosity was piqued for a moment. It felt as though there was a connection as you both gazed at the painting that resembled blood. Sae could've sworn he saw something in your eyes for a brief instant.

Then, he spoke again, his voice carrying a touch of sincerity, which was quite surprising coming from him. It was as if he was the one trying to impress you, caught off guard for a moment. "Do your eyes appreciate dark and violent subjects?"

He was genuinely interested in your response.

"I do," you replied.

Sae's attention was now completely fixated on you. "I do as well. Maybe that's why I enjoyed this particular image so much."

His usual serious tone softened slightly as he spoke. It felt like you were having a conversation, and it was strangely pleasant. Sae felt a bit nervous yet intrigued by the mysterious you. He wondered why he was this interested. He couldn't quite understand why he was so captivated.

Your enthusiasm caught his attention, and you quickly turned to him. "Really? You like this piece? Why????"

Sae's interest grew even more when he saw your excitement. He wondered why he desired to see you smile. He had never felt this way before. Your smile seemed like the most beautiful thing in the room, and it suddenly felt warmer.

Sae continued to gaze at you, waiting for you to speak again. He actually wanted you to talk more, to learn more about you.

"I am the artist of this piece," you answered.

Sae felt both shocked and excited. You were the artist behind this captivating artwork that had grabbed his attention. He couldn't take his eyes off you.

You pointed to the corner of the painting. "It says my name."

Sae felt even more foolish now. He hadn't bothered to look at the name of the artist, completely captivated by your beauty and energy.

"I just didn't see it before… This is the best piece here," he admitted, finally taking his eyes off you for a moment to check the artist's name - "Y/N."

Then Sae locked his eyes onto you again.

"Thank you!" you replied genuinely.

Sae noticed your genuine gratitude, and it was another beautiful sight to him. He didn't know what else to say, but he wanted to continue the conversation with you. He was eager to speak with you more.

In his usual blunt tone, Sae inquired, "Do you plan on creating more artwork like this?"

You considered for a moment. "Hmm, maybe… it depends. I made this to support the charity. It will be up for auction later."

Sae's interest immediately peaked when he heard about the upcoming auction. He now had the perfect excuse to spend more time with you, who was steadily capturing his heart, as his interest shifted from the artwork alone to you and your creations.

Sae, in his calm and straightforward manner, said, "How can I make sure that I get this piece?"

You chuckled, a bright and happy expression on your face.

Sae's interest in you grew even more as he saw your smile. He found himself wondering why he wanted to see you smile so badly, a feeling he had never experienced before. Your smile seemed to be the most captivating thing, and the room grew warmer.

Sae still couldn't take his eyes off you, waiting for you to speak again. He truly desired more of you.

"Bid the highest , I guess." you replied.

So, he spoke again, his usual cold tone present. "In that case, I'm going to bid the highest."

As you said your farewells and began to walk towards the main hall of the gala, where the auction would take place, Sae couldn't help but notice you. You were truly something, and he had a plan in mind.

Sae made his decision, and his plan was clear: he would secure that art piece.

[sinister-things]

Can't Take My Eyes off You

Loosely inspired by this post by @fabuloustrash05

⚠️TW: One mention of food⚠️

Synopsis: Hamato Yoshi– or, Mr. Splinter is a very wealthy man, owning multiple dojo's across New York City. When he announces a gala event in hopes of his son, Donatello, finding that special someone, your parent's force you– New York City's "IT Girl" to attend. What could go wrong?

Everything was set and ready. The food was from all around the world, Splinter had hired the greatest orchestra in town, and everything about the room screamed "I make eight figures!"

To put it nicely, you were an IT Girl. You were beautiful, rich, had deals with multi-million dollar brands, and the media loved you.

You made your way to the food table, heads turning by the mere sight of you.

This event was supposed to last for five hours. You only knew of Mr. Hamato because your younger cousin attended one of his dojo's.

You had never met his son, Donatello, prior to this. You had heard of him and his intellect, but had never met him in person.

"Oh, mi gosh!" You heard a voice squeal.

You turned to investigate the sound, only to find a humanoid turtle donning an orange bandana standing a few steps behind you.

"Hello, can I help you?" You asked him.

He was buzzing with excitement. "You're Y/N, you were on the cover of Vogue last month!"

You chuckled at his excitement. "And you are?"

"Oh–" The boy blushed, "I'm Mikey, I'm a really big fan," Mikey told you. "Can I take a picture with you?" He asked bashfully.

"Sure!" You popped the last finger sandwich in your mouth and crouched beside him, flashing your famous smile.

He waved as he walked away, cellphone in hand, likely to post the picture somewhere.

You continued on with your night, chatting up a few of your other rather famous friends.

"Not to sound rude, but," You furrowed your eyebrows. "Why are you here? You already have a girlfriend." You asked.

Your friend Kelly, a model, huffed. "My sister was invited, and you know she can't be left alone for more than five seconds," she laughed.

The two of you heard a gasp, followed by an "Oh my god, it's you!"

You both turned to see your mutual friend, Iseul, a kpop idol. You smiled as the three of you caught up with each other's lives.

You three laughed and genuinely had a good time. But during the entire conversation, you had a weird feeling. Like you were being watched.

▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎

From across the room stood– for lack of a better word, the prettiest girl in New York.

Y/N L/N, the quote-unquote "IT Girl" of New York was talking with two other girls. Kelly Blare, a model from Newfoundland, and Kim Iseul, a Korean singer known for her stunning appearance.

Y/N was mostly known for her modeling career. For some reason, brands fought to the death to even have one of their products in the background of an Instagram post.

She was on every billboard, every cafe window, every magazine cover, everything! You couldn't walk down the street and not see her face.

Everyone knew who she was.

Everyone knew her name.

Mikey was a big fan of Y/N, using her modeling shoots as inspiration for his various art pieces and following her on every social media he had.

The press adored her! Always praising her actions and beauty, painting her as this divine being who could do no wrong.

And Donnie would be lying if he said he didn't have even the smallest crush on her.

Donnie never expected himself to be one of those lovestruck fools, blindly admiring someone he barely knew. In fact, he laughed at the idea. Him, falling in love? Heavens, no. Impossible!

He never cared for the various celebrities and socialites his father met with. But when he saw you, something changed.

He hated to admit it, but the gossip was true: you were more beautiful in person than in a picture.

But there he stood, face redder than Raph's mask. A bead of sweat ran down the side of his head as he watched you laugh at something Kelly said.

Pathetic. He was pathetic.

You had captured his heart, just as he feared someone would. The sight of you nearly making him forget how to breath, captivating him with your presence alone.

But you looked so unreal! You've most likely had thousands, if not millions of people profess their love for you. What would make Donnie stand out from the rest?

Donnie's heart stopped when the two of you locked eyes. He dropped the glass he was holding and found himself running in the direction he came.

▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎

You chased after the person. "Wait, come back!" You called to them.

You found yourself running through the various hallways of the estate, the person not stopping for a second.

"I just wanna talk!" You called desperately, picking up your speed.

With every twist and turn, you tried calling out to the person, hoping to persuade them to stop and talk.

The person ran out the nearest door they saw, you quickly following in pursuit.

Your legs burned, begging to rest. But you weren't going to until you stopped this stranger in their tracks.

You climbed a steep, grassy hill. There was a large, looming tree standing at the peak, a bench underneath it. Sitting down, you smiled.

"Hi, what's your name?" You asked. That was a good conversation starter, right?

"I'm Y/N," You told him, hoping to gain his trust. "I like your suit!"

The person scuffled to the other side of the bench, you only following. They fiddled with their jacket for a few seconds before muttering a response.

"I'm sorry..."

You were confused. "For what?"

"For staring..." He admitted.

You bounced your knee, a smirk growing on your face.

"Well," you leaned forward– not to close, but close enough that you could see him blushing. "I'll forgive you if you tell me your name."

He bit his lip, looking to the ground. Sighing, he met your eyes.

"Donatello..."

You gasped. "Donatello? As in, Donatello Hamato?" You asked him curiously. He nodded.

"And you're Y/N," his ashamed frown began turning into that of a smile. "The prettiest girl in New York,"

You're reaction was a mix of shock and flattery. "Well, I think you're the smartest guy in this city," you told him.

Donatello's face went red. "Really?"

You nodded, "I've heard of all the different kinds of tech you've made, it's pretty cool!"

His face lit up, smiling like a child who saw Santa Claus. Someone praised his tech? He's been waiting for this!

The two of you rambled on about your interests, your passions and your dreams for hours.

From the corner of his eye, Donnie saw April and his brother's cheering him on from inside the house.

He rolled his eyes, ignoring his family and his blush for the time being, focusing his thoughts and smile on your adorable rants.

He sighed, realizing what was happening to himself. He, who laughed in the face of Cupid, was head over heels for the prettiest girl in New York City.

In the span of four hours, you had managed to make him smile and laugh more than he had in a single month.

But down the line, you and Donatello are as happy as can be. Whether sixteen or sixty, one thing is for sure: he couldn't take his eyes off you.

[blackswaneuroparedux]

She was destined to be my Gradiva, the one who moves forward, my victory, my wife.

- Salvador Dali on Gala

Dali always maintained that without his wife, Gala, he would never have been the icon of art as he became.

Gala’s real name was Helena Ivanovna Diakonova, a Russian born in Kazan in 1894. She was 10 years older than Dalí and, when they met in 1929, she was married to the poet Paul Éluard and mother to a little girl. She also had a lover, Max Ernst, who painted her in a number of portraits. It was love at first sight.

In his Secret Life, Dalí wrote: “She was destined to be my Gradiva, the one who moves forward, my victory, my wife.” The name Gradiva comes from the title of a novel by W. Jensen, the main character of which was Sigmund Freud. Gradiva was the book’s heroine and it was her who brought psychological healing to the main character.

She immediately became his muse. Gala is a frequent model in Dalí’s work, often in religious roles such as the Blessed Virgin Mary in the painting The Madonna of Port Lligat.

In the early 1930s, Dalí started to sign his paintings with his and her name as “it is mostly with your blood, Gala, that I paint my pictures”. Gala acted as his agent, very aggressively fighting for his rights with gallery owners and buyers. She was also using tarot cards to influence Dalí’s career decisions. According to most accounts, Gala had a strong sex drive and, throughout her life, had numerous extramarital affairs (among them with her former husband Paul Éluard), which Dalí encouraged, since he was a practitioner of candaulism. Also, Salvador Dalí claims to be a virgin and completely impotent as he was afraid of women’s anatomy and Gala publicly assumes her affairs with other men. Still, it seems that their relationship was quite harmonic and lucrative for both sides.

He wrote: “I would polish Gala to make her shine, make her the happiest possible, caring for her more than myself, because without her, it would all end.”

But nothing lasts forever. At the end of the 1960s, their relationship started to fade away, and for the rest of their lives, it was just smouldering pieces of their bygone passion. In 1968, the painter bought Gala a castle in Púbol, Girona, and it was agreed that the painter could not go there without her prior permission. Gala spent much of her time there in the company of young men, for whom she spent a fortune. In his turn, Dali saved himself for the company of attractive young ladies, although he didn’t want anything from them but their beauty. It was said that they held weekly orgies, though, by all accounts, the artist himself didn’t participate except to watch.

In 1980, at the age of 76, Dali was forced to retire due to palsy. The motor disorder left him unable to hold a brush, and as his condition worsened, he became less tolerant of Gala’s continued affairs. Gala was also using income from Dali’s art to lavish money and gifts on her lovers, who were mostly young male artists. One day, the artist had enough. He beat Gala so badly, he broke two of her ribs. To calm him down, Gala gave him large doses of Valium and other sedatives, which made him lethargic. She then allegedly gave him “unknown quantities of one or more types of amphetamine,” which caused “irreversible neural damage.”

Gala Dalí died in Port Lligat, Spain, on June 10, 1982, following a severe case of the flu. She was buried in Púbol, Spain, on the grounds of a castle that was a gift from her husband. At the time of her death, she was involved in an affair with a 22-year-old Jesus Christ Superstar actor named Jeff Fenholt for whom she left Dalí. But when Gala died, Dalí’s life became dull. He stopped eating and scratched his face. He was constantly shouting and crying. He outlived his wife by seven years.

They lived together for 53 years.

[krsonmar]

Y'all...I can't help wondering if the "he's his boss" thing could be a jab.

I've had a...theory for quite some time now about why WWDITS had a great first three seasons and then took the weird swerve it has since s4. It involves people's personal lives and so I've felt guilty even thinking it because it isn't my business, but art is not created in a vaccuum and people absolutely put parts of themselves and their lives into any good art they create.

Basically, I've been wondering if Harvey and Taika were a Thing for a while. If so, it looks like things went south and the breakup was messy, to put it lightly. The people still working on Shadows seem to be solidly Team Harvey and like maybe there was some general bad blood with Taika--he evidently dialed back his involvement with the show after about season 3 and is credited differently now--and I've seen some other stuff that looks like jabs at each other on their socials, mostly Harvey's. One thing I'm thinking of is that Harvey posted a photo on his Instagram a little over a year ago with Lin Manuel-Miranda suggesting they might be working together soon--although that doesn't appear to have come to fruition yet--and it's known well enough within "The Industry" that even people with no connections to it (eg, me) know about there having apparently been some major drama about Moana being given to Lin instead of Taika. It's just a standard hanging-out-at-a-party photo, but if there's some grudge there strong enough that "the public" know about it, it seems like an odd thing to post when the guy who, at the very least, gave you your breakout role is going to see it.

I've seen a few little things here and there that seem odd like that--like they were both at The Met Gala in January or February but neither of them posted pictures together, like you would expect for two even somewhat close work associates--and with that context, it's making me see this quote by Paul Simms in a different light.

My first instinct on hearing it was, "What's the big deal? He needs to string us along and keep us in suspense so we stay engaged and keep tuning in, yeah duh he's making half-hearted attempts to throw us off the scent." But remembering the context of this theory I've had for a while now makes me wonder why that angle. Harvey spent a couple years pretending to waffle on whether Nandermo were even a canon subtext ("I don't know, maybe they're interested in each other, maybe there's something else going on, it's very complex, who can say? :-3"), so why not take that route again, or try a different reason?

I dunno, I'm getting too sleuth-y on other people's lives and it really doesn't matter, and it could be just confirmation bias on my part, but I'm feeling like this is another puzzle piece contributing to one bigger picture over other potential ones.

[amberfaber40]

Kim Kardashian shows off her famous curves in hot pink bikini

Kim Kardashian shows off her famous curves in hot pink bikini

Kim Kardashian proved she likes to work hard and play hard on Sunday, as she got to work posing for a sexy photoshoot in Cabo San Lucas, Mexico.

Every Unbelievable Look from the 2019 Met Gala

Stars were expected to pull out all the stops for the Metropolitan Institute of Art's Costume Institute Gala, where the theme was "Camp: Notes on Fashion." See what all your favorite A-listers wore to the biggest night in fashion

Kim Kardashian Lands Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Cover

Kim Kardashian has landed the cover for yet another magazine -- she's the star of the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit issue, which hits newsstands May 19.

Bodysuits are the unsung hero of any transitional wardrobe

Throw on and go.

Photos from Kim Kardashian and Pete Davidson's Tahiti Vacation - E! Online

Photos from Kim Kardashian and Pete Davidson's Tahiti Vacation

Kim Kardashian showcases her famous curves as she enjoys the beach

Kim Kardashian enjoyed a day dipping into the ocean at a Malibu beach.

Kim Kardashian stays up to study the law, Kanye creates new clothes

The 39-year-old reality TV star, whose father Robert was a lawyer, is studying the law with several California professors to prepare for the bar. And her husband wants to be the POTUS.

Dolce&Gabbana SS23 Women's Fashion Show

Kim Kardashian in Good Swim | Good American

GOOD SWIM GOOD SWIM If you want it – we got it. Our breakthrough swimwear comes in every size, style and color imaginable – welcome to the swim shop of your dreams! TOPS BOTTOMS ONE-PIECES COVERUPS COVERAGE TYPE TOPS BOTTOMS ONE-PIECES COVERUPS SHOP BY COVERAGE TOPS Swimwear made for real bodies BANDEAUS TINY TIES ONE -SHOULDER ALWAYS FITS VIEW ALL BOTTOMS Swimwear that loves your curves CHEEKY TINY TIES FULL COVERAGE HIGH-WAISTED ALWAYS FITS VIEW ALL ONE-PIECES Swimwear with core control & adjustable support ONE-SHOULDER MONOKINIS ALWAYS FITS VIEW ALL COVERUPS Designed for every size and every shape DRESSES MINI SKIRTS SARONGS ROMPERS VIEW ALL COVERAGE MINIMAL MEDIUM FULL Designed for every size and every shape because we love your curves SHOP ALL SWIM #GOODAMERICAN

Kim’s Dragonfruit Smoothie Bowl

Recipe straight from her chef.

Kim Kardashian shows off her famous curves in hot pink bikini EXCLUSIVE: Kim Kardashian shows off her famous curves in hot pink bikini as she poses for a sexy photo shoot after jetting to Mexico without Kanye West amid marriage woes By George Stark For Dailymail.com 18:29 24 Aug 2020, updated 19:45 24 Aug 2020 Kim Kardashian has been pictured taking part in a sexy photo shoot in Cabo San Lucas, Mexico The sighting comes after Kim, 39, reunited with husband Kanye West on social media over the weekend Kanye, 43, is currently based in Wyoming where he is said to be working on his unlikely bid for presidency  The couple's marriage has been under increasing pressure lately following his recent Twitter outbursts  Kim Kardashian proved she likes to work hard and play hard on Sunday, as she got to back to her professional duties posing for a sexy photoshoot in Cabo San Lucas, Mexico.The 39-year-old reality star looked phenomenal showing off her famous curves in a barely-there hot pink bikini. The Keeping Up with the Kardashians personality was said to be taking part in a shoot for her KKW beauty range while showing off her assets.  Wow factor: Kim Kardashian shows off her famous curves in hot pink bikini as she poses for a sexy photo shoot after jetting to Mexico without Kanye West amid marriage woesKim was seen reuniting with husband Kanye West over the weekend on social media, amid reports of trouble in their marriage following his unlikely bid for presidency. Related ArticlesIt seems the pair are focusing on making things work, despite the fact she is based primarily in Los Angeles, while he spends most of his time working on his campaign in Wyoming. The couple were joined by Kim's sister Kourtney Kardashian this weekend, as the pair took a trip paddle boarding with their daughter North West.  All the glimmers: The reality star smoldered while posing in her bikini on the beachNo Kanye? It was unclear if Kim was with her husband for the beach excursionImpressive: The KKW entrepreneur showed off her famous physique on the beachGetting back to work! After spending time with Kanye and the kids over the weekend, Kim then headed to Mexico for a shootPretty in pink! Kim, 39, wows in a hot pink bikini while doing a photo shoot in MexicoGlow: The KUWTK star appeared to be catching rays from the golden hour sunsetStunning: Kim Kardashian proved she likes to work hard and play hard on Sunday, as she took a break from her vacation to pose for a sexy photoshoot in Cabo San Lucas, MexicoKanye, 43, did not appear to be present for the photoshoot however, after he reportedly flew back to Los Angeles to be with his wife and children this weekend. A source told PEOPLE on Sunday that the rapper had returned to LA to spend some quality time with his family. 'He is still busy working on his music and presidential campaign, but really missed the kids and flew to see them,' the source tells the outlet. Stunner: Kim showed off her derriere in a pair of pink bikini bottomsDangerous curves ahead! The star appeared to preoccupied with her iPhoneBack in action: Kim appears to have jetted to Mexico without husband Kanye West for a sexy new photo shootNew look: Kim showed off her hair in braids as she posed for a poolside shotTo infinity and beyond: Kim appeared to be at a luxury location in Cabo for the sexy shootWet and wild: The KUWTK star proved she's still fond of showing off in a bikini for the camerasTaking a dip: Kim looked every inch of a bombshell pin up as she struck a number of sultry posesAdding: 'They are all spending the weekend at their Hidden Hills house and catching up as a family.''Kimye' married in Florence six years ago and share four children - North, seven, Saint, four, Chicago, two, and Psalm, one.The family recently returned to Los Angeles after a recent Caribbean trip that was reportedly to save their marriage amid his alleged bipolar struggle.Cartwheeling her cares away: Kim appeared to be game for a laugh as she attempted a cartwheel during the shootBracing herself: The reality star gets ready to fling her legs in the air on the beachAlmost! Kim practices her cartwheeling skills while taking part in a sexy bikini shoot in MexicoMeanwhile a PEOPLE insider previously claimed Kanye had been self-isolating at his Wyoming property away from his wife and children before the Caribbean trip and 'wants to live' there. However a DailyMail.com source clarified that Kanye, who is running for President Of The United States this year, was 'never living apart' from Kim. This insider explained: 'He does a lot of work in Wyoming and she works in LA. They're focused on their family now and rarely talk politics.'Enjoying a snack: The wife of Kanye West appeared to be enjoying a chocolate dessert while taking part in the shootCarrying on regardless: An insider close to Kim recently told DailyMail.com that she and husband Kanye West do not talk politicsMaking a splash: Kim sizzled in her pink bikini with seemingly no cares in the worldStriking a pose: Kim looked like a golden goddess posing in the sunsetGetting her stretches in: The shoot required quite a few different maneuvers from the reality star'They had a good family week in the Dominican Republic,' an insider dished to People after the family returned to America.'Kim and Kanye are getting along. They both seem much happier,' continued the insider on August 9, the day the family arrived in Miami.A source shed light on Kim's state of mind: 'Between the kids, work, and dealing with Kanye's bipolar episodes, it's been hard for her to think clearly.' Trim Kim: The KUWTK personality displayed her hour glass figure while taking a dipRisqué: Kim proved she's still not shy when it comes to revealing photo shootsQuick stop: It appears Kim jetted to Mexico for a one-off shoot after spending time with her familyDouble life: Kim used to balancing her busy career with her family commitmentsKanye praised Kim's mother Kris Jenner on Twitter after his return to America, just weeks after denouncing her on Twitter as 'Kris Jong-Un.''My mother in law Kris Jenner ... makes the best music playlist,' wrote Kanye, who slammed her multiple times on Twitter last month. During the Caribbean trip a The Sun insider said Kim 'offered to fully support a 2024 run for president if he got help and listened to the political consultants they hired.'However the source also claimed that he refuses to budge from the idea of running this year, saying: 'Kanye seems set on what he calls "God's plan" - that he becomes president. He's saying it's a higher calling.'Made it past the finish line: Kim appeared to be pleased when the photoshoot was over Most Read News Revealed: The 83 beaches Britons are warned to avoid due to SEWAGE being dumped into waters nearby -... Hunt unveils his 'back-to-work' Budget TODAY: Chancellor will introduce free pre-school childcare,... Fantasist whose rape lies drove three men to attempt suicide is jailed for eight years: CCTV reveals... US SUMMONS Russian ambassador as Moscow DENIES its fighter jet collided with American Reaper drone... No hard feelings then, Matt? Self-styled anti-Tory sleaze postergirl Carol Vorderman laughs and... Drunk woman holidaymaker, 71, who went to bed in a stranger's house she mistook for her B&B suffered... Thousands of Brits earning over £125,000 are STILL eligible for Universal Credit due to high rents... 'I would have died if I'd stayed at home one more night': Jailed Stephen Bear's ex-girlfriend... 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Wow factor: Kim Kardashian shows off her famous curves in hot pink bikini as she poses for a sexy photo shoot after jetting to Mexico without Kanye West amid marriage woes All the glimmers: The reality star smoldered while posing in her bikini on the beach No Kanye? It was unclear if Kim was with her husband for the beach excursion Impressive: The KKW entrepreneur showed off her famous physique on the beach Getting back to work! After spending time with Kanye and the kids over the weekend, Kim then headed to Mexico for a shoot Pretty in pink! Kim, 39, wows in a hot pink bikini while doing a photo shoot in Mexico Glow: The KUWTK star appeared to be catching rays from the golden hour sunset Stunning: Kim Kardashian proved she likes to work hard and play hard on Sunday, as she took a break from her vacation to pose for a sexy photoshoot in Cabo San Lucas, Mexico Stunner: Kim showed off her derriere in a pair of pink bikini bottoms Dangerous curves ahead! The star appeared to preoccupied with her iPhone Back in action: Kim appears to have jetted to Mexico without husband Kanye West for a sexy new photo shoot New look: Kim showed off her hair in braids as she posed for a poolside shot To infinity and beyond: Kim appeared to be at a luxury location in Cabo for the sexy shoot Wet and wild: The KUWTK star proved she's still fond of showing off in a bikini for the cameras Taking a dip: Kim looked every inch of a bombshell pin up as she struck a number of sultry poses Cartwheeling her cares away: Kim appeared to be game for a laugh as she attempted a cartwheel during the shoot Bracing herself: The reality star gets ready to fling her legs in the air on the beach Almost! Kim practices her cartwheeling skills while taking part in a sexy bikini shoot in Mexico Enjoying a snack: The wife of Kanye West appeared to be enjoying a chocolate dessert while taking part in the shoot Carrying on regardless: An insider close to Kim recently told DailyMail.com that she and husband Kanye West do not talk politics Making a splash: Kim sizzled in her pink bikini with seemingly no cares in the world Striking a pose: Kim looked like a golden goddess posing in the sunset Getting her stretches in: The shoot required quite a few different maneuvers from the reality star Trim Kim: The KUWTK personality displayed her hour glass figure while taking a dip Risqué: Kim proved she's still not shy when it comes to revealing photo shoots Quick stop: It appears Kim jetted to Mexico for a one-off shoot after spending time with her family Double life: Kim used to balancing her busy career with her family commitments Made it past the finish line: Kim appeared to be pleased when the photoshoot was over > © Associated Newspapers Ltd Comments Share what you think Comments Share what you think Comments Share what you think

[suna-reversed]

𝐩𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡

toji fushiguro x reader

You could have anyone you want

Why would you want to be with me?

I’m nothing special

WC- 8k+ || MINORS DNI !!

my fic for the “great conjunction collab”

Warnings/tags- (unprotected sex, oral sex, slight voyeurism, choking, nipple play, mating press, size kink, slight breeding kink) (historical AU, non-canon timeline, greek mythology, hades-persephone retelling, mentions of misogyny/sexism, depression, religion, hurt/comfort, angst, heartbreak, major character injury, descriptions of blood, violence and death, manipulation)

𝙀𝙧𝙞𝙙𝙖 - 𝙝𝙖𝙩𝙧𝙚𝙙

It would be an understatement to say that Toji, despite being one of them, had never felt like part of the clan and had hated the whole Zenin bloodline through all his years of suffering.

And the only thing he hated more than his own blood? It was the damned nobles who looked down upon him- mocking his lack of power under whispers and rumours. The spineless cowards didn’t even have the courage to spit those venomous words at his face.

He kept note of every single one of them- it was hard not to with how their laughs echoed in his mind each night as he dug his nails into his palms. So of course his attention was bound to drift towards the mother and daughter from a titled family that happened to take residence in the Zenin estate when they got news that their home down-south had been attacked. 

𝘼𝙨𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙚𝙖- 𝙞𝙣𝙣𝙤𝙘𝙚𝙣𝙘𝙚 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙥𝙪𝙧𝙞𝙩𝙮

Your home had not been attacked. It was all planned of course- your travel to the mountains up north that crossed the Zenin abode, your mother having fabricated the news so that she had an excuse to find an honourable match for you from one of the most powerful clans. Her sly spies had already done the dirty work, providing you with two suitable men- even if one of them was twice your own age and the other known for his aggressiveness. 

The white gown your mother had dolled you in and the orchids she had braided into your hair had every single eye focused on you as you made your way up to your chambers. You kept your head down, too nervous to meet the eye of anyone- hoping no older man took an interest in your facade of purity and innocence and decided to stake his claim on your body. Oh, how you wished you could get away from this life, get away from the wretched woman you had to call your mother, get away from all of it- the stupid clan- the stupid suitors- the stupi-

“Ah!” 

You yelped as your body crashed into what seemed to be a rock hard wall of muscles, the scent of night chilled mist and cedar taking over your senses. You blinked. 

Gulping, you moved back a step, ready to start sputtering apologies before your mother peeled your skin off for already having embarrassed yourself. Instead, your words stayed stuck in your throat as your gaze met with an intense pair of orbs- filled to the brim with the rage of achilles, but somehow also his sorrow. Your breath hitched in your throat, and in the back of your mind, you knew you should do something- move, apologise, scowl like a noble lady would if nothing else- but all you could do was stand there stunned, the man’s stance mirroring your own. 

You flinched as the pot-bellied butler who was leading you down the hallway came back, and you thought the dark haired man might kill him right there for interrupting the burning moment between you two. Instead, you were shocked as he let himself get pushed to the side, stuffing his hands into his pockets, head down as he made a beeline towards the exit.

You barely felt the crescent moons being engraved into your skin as your mother dragged you to your room by the arm, a clipped smile on her face. 

𝙊𝙧𝙥𝙝𝙚𝙪𝙨 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙀𝙪𝙧𝙮𝙙𝙞𝙘𝙚- 𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙗𝙞𝙙𝙙𝙚𝙣 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚

“Toji”

He continued walking, even as his eyes held a warning look. Gritting his teeth, he increased his pace.

“Toji-”

He shuddered. Say it again, he wanted to command, instead he turned the corner, hands curling into tight fists.  

He had been confused at first, almost appalled, at you- at your audacity to try and act like he wasn’t who he was- a piece of scum, the lowest of the lowly in the clan. But it seemed like this is how you had decided to spend the rest of your time whenever you weren’t being flagged by suitors or being paraded around your mother as the ideal of a chaste loyal wife. 

He had indulged you the first time you had struck up a conversation. Perhaps that was his initial mistake. His second being committed just now as he turned to you, the glee on your face making bile rise up to his throat. He had seen women like you before- well born “ladies” of the court in dire need of a good fuck, before they were packaged off like objects to a husband who’d only ever look at them as a vessel for carrying his children. Toji huffed in annoyance, eyes doing a quick scan of his surroundings before he grabbed your wrist and pulled you into one of the storage rooms right around the corner. 

“Look-”

Toji cut himself off as he saw the baffled look on your face, your eyes starting to fill up with fear and panic. Somehow, he found himself speechless, the bitter words of telling you to go look for pleasure in a whorehouse now dissolving on the tip of his tongue.

He knew who you were being considered as a match for- having overheard the conversation during a clan meeting- it was supposed to be the sons of one of the higher ups and he could already picture the half wilted life you’d be living. And right then, something clicked in Toji’s mind- all those years of hatred and resentment flashing before his eyes as you hesitantly stepped back, tears welling up in your eyes, and right there, Toji knew what he wanted to do- what he had to. 

He took a deep breath and your heart hammered even harder in your chest. He had been different from the rest of them- you had known it from the first time. However, now you doubted your own wits, trying to recall the ways of combat you had seen the soldiers back home perform- even though you didn’t quite see how you’d succeed against the tall burly mass of flesh that towered above you. You jumped back as he strode right towards you- eyes clenched shut, hands raised in front of your face ready for the impact and pain. 

You were met with nothingness, barely feeling the light brush of his arm as he moved past you. 

Toji sighed at your almost childish antics, even though he agreed your actions would have been justifiable if it was any other man having pulled you into such a secluded place. He waited for you to calm down, lazily looking for the latch of the huge glass window situated on the other side of the room. He easily lifted it open, biceps flexing as he did so- placing his hands on the ledge before pulling himself to the other side.

He turned back towards your gawking figure, rolling his eyes, ready to put forward the offer that would decide if you were worth his time and effort or not. He extended his hand, trying to ignore the heat crawling up to the tip of his ears at the giddy relief-filled grin that spread across your face as he asked, 

“You ever visited the countryside princess?” 

--

You must be an angel in disguise, he finds himself thinking. It terrified him- the time he had spent staring at the column of your neck, watching your chest fall and rise with every breath- and the time he could have spent simply admiring every crook and nook of your body. 

You looked serene in the golden hour of the afternoon, lying on the grass with your eyes shut, sunlight cascading down your figure making it seem as if you carried your own halo. Toji was afraid you’d sprout wings any second now, disappearing away to someplace heavenly- someplace better than the hell you were about to be condemned to- someplace that didn’t have monsters like him. But at last, you were only a human- soon to be one of the Zenins if nothing else. 

The time you had sneaked out to the lake in the countryside with him had not been the last of your rendezvous. You had been quite different from what Toji had expected. You hadn’t made any advances towards him but you weren’t the pure little thing everyone believed you to be either.

You were smart to say the least- a trait that families often suppressed in women of your status, trying to force them into nothing but submissive concubines for their future husband. You were oddly aware of it- had mentioned your doomed fate quite a few times now, and he was struck by how you always laughed, as if your own self being stripped away was a joke. You seemed to do that quite a bit, and he understood it in some twisted way of his own plight. 

Even as his mind kept reminding him that you had still grown up being pampered, being spoiled, having others do your work for you- others like him. But conversation had flowed so naturally with you, he found himself showing you more and more of his places of solitude he had found all over the village through his years of misery.  

You were also naive in many ways, but still blunt in twice as many. Toji had rolled his eyes as he had asked you what you did with your free time back home- the answer was expected- it always had to be something related to the arts and education, trying to pump the ladies full of culture so that they have something to talk about at the dozen balls and galas they’d be attending every month. However, he had almost choked on the pear he chewed as you had started listing names of erotica after erotica- the titles being lewd enough to let him know just how filthy the content inside would be. 

You had burst into laughter at the look on his face, crumbs of fruit left on the side of his mouth making him look even more bizarre. You had reached up your fingers almost instinctively, eyes widening as you realised you had brushed them over the scar he never seemed to talk about. His hand was wrapped around your wrist in less than a second, halting it in place. 

He had stared right back at you, breaths heavy, eyes calculating as he loosened the grip around your skin, but not before he lifted your fingers to press against the mark once more. You swore you could have heard the drumming of your heart, and perhaps he did too.

As you brushed away the remaining bit of the sweet fruit, you couldn’t help but notice the flush that had formed on his cheeks, even as he scowled. 

𝙀𝙧𝙤𝙨- 𝙥𝙝𝙮𝙨𝙞𝙘𝙖𝙡 𝙙𝙚𝙨𝙞𝙧𝙚.

“You’d better be quiet or everyone’s going to know what a naughty little slut you are.”

You’re bent over the table in the storage room that has somehow become your portal of escape from the person you have to pretend to be. It’s not the first time Toji has whispered his filthy administrations into your ear, but he’s never done it quite so close to where anyone could walk in and catch you red handed. 

Perhaps it was the fact that his face had turned a sick shade of green at the sight of your suitor tucking your hair behind your ear, your lips twitching upwards at something he said- the same way they had twitched up the night before when he had risen from in between your legs, the taste of yourself flooding your mouth as he had pressed his lips to yours. 

This is exactly what you were here for, and despite it, Toji knew who’s name you screamed at the end of every day. So then why did another hand on you ignite a bestial flame inside his chest? Why did he feel the need to pull you away in the dead of the night amongst the crowd of tipsy people, ridding you of the fabric of your dress in one swift movement as he had pressed you against the nearest surface. 

You didn't panic for even a moment, you knew it was his hand just from the touch of it, his hot breath against the shell of your ear, and his throbbing member pressed against the curve of your behind as a thumb rubbed circles into your hip bone. 

You throw your head back against his muscular chest, craning your neck upwards till you meet his eyes- they soften for the briefest of moments, but the way his tip brushes against your underwear-clad core seems to fill them with raw electricity once more. And you think he’s going to fuck you right there- make you cry out his name for letting another man so close to you. Instead, you gasp as his rough hands grab the flesh of your thighs, kneading the muscle as he spins you around, a smirk being flashed your way as he gets on his knees. 

He looks ethereal in that moment. And your breath hitches in your throat as you realise you’ve made a fallen angel bow before you- have tricked him into thinking you can cleanse him of his deeds when the only sinner in this room was you. The way his lips press against the inside of your thighs, nose rubbing against your freshly flowing juices- it’s tantalising, even worse when he takes both your hands in his as they try to find solace in his locks, pinning them to your sides onto the table instead. 

He rests his chin right below the apex of your mound, eyes wandering to your face as he sighs, the lazy but smug curve of his lips accentuating the scar you had grown to cherish as much as your own heartbeat.

Your chest is heaving, the sound of your heavy breathing hanging in the silence of the room as you look down at him. If this was to be his ruination- his fall from grace- Toji would die a happy man. The scent of you is lingering right below his nose, his mouth watering alone at the thought, but he cannot seem to pull away his eyes from your beguiling face, bathed in the moonlight. The words seem to escape him before he can think twice of them.

“Do you know how beautiful you are? It’s truly distracting.”

You’ve barely let his words settle in before he presses his thumb right against your wet heat, rubbing small circles onto your sensitive bud. You don’t have a chance to respond as he proceeds to dive into your drenched cunt- his tongue giving kitten-licks to your clit, lapping up any wetness that dares to drip down. You cry out loud as two of his fingers join his mouth’s onslaught, slapping a hand against your own mouth remembering where you were. 

The sounds filling the room as he suctions your clit in between his lips are filthy- arms wrapping around and under your thighs, pulling your arousal even closer to his starving mouth, the new angle of your leg being thrown over his shoulder letting his fingers rub against the spongy spot inside your walls that makes the coil in your stomach snap. You’re grinding against his face and he’s letting you, nose pressing onto your clit as he licks up the remnants of your juices, fingers continuing to fuck you through your climax as they quiver and shake around his head. 

You’re still coming down from your high, body hanging limp at an awkward angle against the hard wooden surface. His strong burly arms are easily lifting you up, carrying you towards the other side of the room- right towards the glass window. Your eyes widen as you realise the malicious idea that has popped up into your lover’s head, but you’re barely able to put in two words of protest before your feet are hitting the ground, the cold surface making you gasp as your tits are pushed against it. You’re crying out loud as he rubs his thick length against your soppy folds. 

“Toji- someone could see us- we shouldn’t- ah!”

You’re cut off as he lines himself up at your entrance, a pleasurable burn down in your core as his girth stretches your walls. It always hurts. No matter how many times he’s made you cum on his fingers and tongue or prepped you up with an ointment- his size is something no one would ever get accustomed to. He knows it too, but tonight he seems to care less about taking it slow and letting you adjust. You honestly cannot care less too, not when you're gushing around him as such when he’s barely even halfway inside. 

“Too big Toji- too much.” You’re mewling, hands trying to grip onto something.

“You can take it- fuck just let me-”

He’s hastily moving his fingers across your stomach to rub your pulsing bud, groaning lewdly at the way your cunt flutters around him, letting him move deeper inside of you.

The growl that leaves him as his tip hits your cervix is grossly animalistic, making you moan loudly. His other hand is coming up to grip your jaw, cheek pressed against the glass as he lifts up one of your legs, the angle letting him thrust in and out of your poor drenched hole even deeper. His thrusts turn sloppy, eyes clenched shut above you as the sounds of his balls slapping against your flesh with each thrust fill the room.

You’re both groaning in unison, his strokes getting faster as he feels your walls clamping down on him. You’re choking on a breath as his hand moves to wrap around your throat, the sensation making you moan even louder.

“Call me selfish-”  

A sharp smack is delivered against the flesh of your ass causing you to arch your back, the action making your tits press up against the window even more,

 “... but I don’t ever want anyone else to touch you.”

His lips have been suctioned to your neck, your delightful noises being muffled as he’s turning your head to the side till his tongue slips into your mouth. He tightens his grip around your neck and you’re seeing stars, along with the pace of his fingers on your clit and his rapid thrusts making the well in the bottom of your stomach come apart, tears of pleasure slipping your eyes, the feeling of his seed painting your walls making you clench against him amidst your own orgasm.

You barely feel the arms cradling your body, carrying you to set you down on the table. You furrow your brows as Toji strips himself of his shirt, and your eyes widen at the thought of him ravishing you once more so soon. Instead, you shudder as he swipes it against your sex, cleaning up his mess. 

The way you beam at him, even in your exhausted state, is honestly worth the ruined shirt- he finds himself thinking as he moves to pick up your dress from the ground. He clicks his tongue as he realises just how much of shreds he had ripped it into in his feral daze. He’s lifting his head to meet your eyes, wondering how he’ll tell you that you have to find a way to get back to your chambers in this state- 

“Oh-”

Your saccharine voice is pulling Toji out of his thoughts, surprise forming across his face as you burst into laughter at the sight of what he’s sure has cost twice as much as all the clothes he’d ever owned combined. 

“How well do you think I’d fare going out in one of the potato sacks?” 

How could he have not smiled right back at you. 

𝘿𝙤𝙡𝙤𝙨- 𝙩𝙧𝙞𝙘𝙠𝙚𝙧𝙮 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙜𝙪𝙞𝙡𝙚

Toji had never wanted to rip his own heart out so badly before, inject his blood with ambrosia so that he could be worthy enough for the goddess that was ready to abandon her sanctity- her piece of heaven- for him. He had always known how it would end- in an empty heath of a fire gone out long ago, the only thing keeping it burning now regret and sorrow.

 Love could not have sustained you when there was barely enough space to breathe, when there was barely enough food for your kids to live off of. Once the love faded, all that’d remain would be your wish to go back to the past, getting drunk on forgetfulness so that you can survive within the stone cold walls of a house- not a home.

Once again, Toji knew what he had to do- knew he willingly stepped into this hoping to ruin what was supposed to be the prize of his own blood- in order to humiliate them and fulfill his revenge.

He also knew he was the ruined one now as thoughts of you plagued his mind day and night- how his tactful game of cat and mouse had turned into sweet kisses and hushed giggles, and how all he wanted was to find a pit stop in time where his blood did not matter, where the sins of his past did not matter. But despite it all, he knew he couldn’t have dragged you into his own hell, even if you begged him to take you.

He sighs. 

You had recited the exact conversation you had with your mother- laid yourself bare before him as you poured out your heart- letting him know that it’d be worth tasting the 7 seeds of evil even if it meant living in hell for half your life. 

He had thrown his head back and laughed. 

“You really thought our little getaways meant anything more than a fling to me? More than just a decent fuck?”

You stood still, mouth agape at the words that had slipped past his lips, a hand fisting the fabric of his shirt right above his heart, desperately searching for the pulse of the man you’d grown to adore over the past few weeks. 

He had looked down at you, the scar you had so tenderly ran your fingers over twitching upwards- in amusement- in laughter, face contorting into one of resentment- of revulsion before he had suddenly stilled. 

“Did you forget your place princess? Pretty little head got too lost in a fool’s paradise- did you forget you are one of them- always have been one of them.”

He had spat the last words at you and you wanted to shake your head, wanted to tell him he was utterly wrong, but all you could do was clutch on even tighter to him.

He had put his hand over yours and you had almost begged for him to tell you that this was a sick joke- almost pleaded for him to intertwine his calloused warm hands with yours as he always did- as he had when he made you scream his name, instead you had found yourself gasping at the icy touch as he flicked away your wrist, brows furrowing in repulsion at the contact- at you.

The tears that had slipped through your eyes had only worked to make him throw his head back like a giddy child once more. He had looked up at the sky as if he was mocking the gods in Olympus - look at how I’ve so beautifully wrecked what you created,

while you had stood there looking up at him as if he was your religion, mouthing,

this is not a joke, love me, love me.

𝙊ï𝙯ú𝙨- 𝙢𝙞𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙮, 𝙖𝙣𝙭𝙞𝙚𝙩𝙮 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙜𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙛

You felt raw. But you did not fight the black hole opening up in your chest. You let it settle into your bones, nurtured the hollowness- ignited it until you felt it turn into flames instead.

You couldn’t have let the ice creep into your heart- it would mean giving up the tears, giving up the feeling of wanting to be swallowed whole by the ground beneath, and that would mean you no longer felt- no longer harboured the only thing that made you feel alive in the cage of bones and flesh your troubled mind resided in. 

There was a heavy pain in between the arch of your shoulder blades- like your wings had been clipped and your halo ripped away.

You ignored the scowl that rose to her face, the way she flinched as you leaned over to rest your head in her lap. You couldn’t tell if the wetness on your cheeks was yours or hers- mourning the daughter she was going to lose. You felt your mother’s burning gaze through the back of your head all throughout the journey back home- could already feel the wrath of your father and the nasty bruises that were to come as her hand came down to rest on your head. 

You instead found yourself being locked away immediately- not a single word from anyone. The only time your door opened was for a maid to serve you your half portioned meals. Not like you had an appetite or a will to do anything else. 

Days passed by, perhaps weeks or months, and you counted the scattered marks on the wall beside your bed like you had done once with the freckles across his back, and you waited-  for what? You weren’t quite sure yourself. You waited and waited until the day your door opened, but it wasn’t the regular pitter patter of steps of the maid who served the food.

Instead, your eyes met the raging ones of the head of your clan, and for the first time in days, an icy shiver creeped up your spine.

----

The torment you’re put through is much worse than expected. You were well aware you were to be disgraced, to be stripped of your title, but somehow the gaze of your own friends and family avoiding your beaten bloody form and ignoring your whimpers and cries of agony was what had stung the most. 

The world seemed to be upside down, fading in and out of hues of colour and greys and blinding lights. You could barely feel the blood dripping down the back of your head and into your shirt as your gaze managed to remain focused on the window outside of the rattling carriage you lay in, panic rising in your chest as you recognised the familiar scenery. 

You fought your hardest to stay awake, but you lost to the increasingly heavy pressure against your head, hoping your blood would run dry before you had to face the hell you were being thrown into. As your head lolled to the side, you wondered if satiating the hunger within you was worth the price you were paying- if this was what happened to every soul that had brought the god of the dead to his knees, wondered if you were the first to do so- wondered if you’d be the last. 

𝙃𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙨- 𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙪𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙡𝙙 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙙𝙚𝙖𝙙, 𝙜𝙤𝙙 𝙤𝙛 𝙧𝙚𝙜𝙧𝙚𝙩

Toji had left the clan- made a living of his own by doing what he did best, by doing what he was made to- destroying and causing wreckage till there was no piece of his soul left to be salvaged. 

He had avoided news about you like the plague, and had still ended up finding out that you were locked away back at your home from the gossiping servants. He had chuckled bitterly, what had he been expecting? He was right after all, you'd never have to face any consequences in life, and soon this whole scandal would be swept under the rug and you would be well on your way to marrying another wealthy brat, having filthy little kids with him who’d have the same luxuries in life and-

Toji found his heart dropping, the axe along with the freshly chopped wood he carried thumping down against the forest floor as he reached the entrance of the wooden cabin he had taken residence in. He saw the pool of blood first- the familiar mop of hair later.

No-

He must be hallucinating- 

But he still found himself moving out of his own accord, gathering the crumpled figure into his arms, feeling a thick fluid drip down his skin- stain through his shirt as he tried to pick you up. A chill ran down his spine as he realised what those savages had done for your body to resist even in an unconscious state- 

And that’s when his eyes slid to the nails in the ground, the sharp metal going right through the flesh of your fingertips, a note pinned to your abdomen in between your shredded dirtied clothes-

“We don’t want the gross wreckage of your perverse ruination. Keep the whore since you wanted her so much.” 

A sea of rage rose in the back of Toji’s mind but it stilled, the vicerating waves crashing against the shore that was the barely noticeable action of your chest heaving. He held back what was a choked sob, mind barely sane as he took out the nails as gently as possible- a man so familiar with death yet utterly horrified by it as he counted your laboured breaths, thanked every deity out in the universe for every huff of air that he could feel against his chest as he carried you inside. 

—

How do you kill a god? 

You had asked him once. He had raised his brow, ruffling your hair before pushing you down onto the bed once more, intent on at least letting you know how you got to heaven. 

How do you kill a god?

It now echoed in his mind as he watched your broken body lay on his bed, having done everything he could have to fix you up even though he feared there would be wounds more than just the physical ones when you gained consciousness- if you gained consciousness.

How do you kill a god? 

Pit him against another god. Let him stare at his own reflection and see all his glorious flaws until he’s falling to his knees, begging for the taste of ichor to be washed out from his mouth, begging to be stripped of his damned divinity- because the curse of immortality is a heavier burden to carry than the curse of mundane suffering- because it’s easier to drown in a sea full of blood than live with it staining your hands.

𝘼𝙥𝙝𝙧𝙤𝙙𝙞𝙩𝙚- 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚, 𝙥𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙪𝙧𝙚 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙥𝙖𝙨𝙨𝙞𝙤𝙣.

“How do you kill a god?” You had asked him once.

Afterwards, you had lain awake late into the night as he had given you a taste of his own holiness, bare in his arms as he had muttered the words into your hair, barely a whisper as they escaped past his bleeding lips, 

How do you become a god?

The burning light attacked your eyes and you flinched loud enough for your own ears to ring, and then flinched even harder as the hot searing pain spread through your body, especially across the tips of your bandage covered fingers. You tried to use your voice but your throat was like a desert and your own harsh whisper scraped against your sensitive ears.

All you could do was stare up at the unfamiliar ceiling, lying numb, waiting for your saviour- or perhaps your torturer to come.

All had gone still once the door opened, your gaze falling onto the familiar hands that carried a bowl of water and about a dozen different small bottles in a basket. You stared through him, through his wide blown eyes and through the sigh of relief that left his mouth as he rushed towards you. 

How do you become a god?

There was much more you had wanted to tell your mother. You had told her you were sick of pretending, sick of being the goddess of spring when everything you touched died in your hands- how every beam of light you emitted was a stolen one from another soul. Perhaps, you had always craved pomegranates and death - had always willingly walked into the darkness with a smile and open arms.

How do you become a god?

You let him plead and writhe to have a taste of your lips - make him believe it is his only salvation. And right when his lips meet yours, you dig your teeth in deep and not let go, even as his fingers grip the column of your throat and his growls rumble inside your mouth. You let the trail of crimson coat your tongue and feel his tears burn your flesh- you make him taste your blood and take his throne. 

—

He says your name like it’s a prayer and you want to rip out his heart.

Instead, you turn your head towards the wall opposite to where he stands, clenching your eyes shut, hoping the next time you wake up it won’t be here. 

Still, you can hear his voice. Every single day of every waking moment- even as you sleep- even as you wake up in cold sweat haunted by the bittersweet melody of his laughter the day he crushed your heart in two, or the time your own blood nailed you down into the earth. 

But most of all, you hate it when you can hear the gruffness of his voice, still heavy from sleep as you let him cradle your head, shushing you- letting you know it was just a nightmare- but it was a nightmare you had lived through- a nightmare he had put you through. 

Not that he didn’t acknowledge it equally as much. It was odd- almost laughable the way he was so desperate to bring even just a flicker of the light back inside your eyes, breaking free from his stoic and tight lipped demeanour to whisper grossly sweet nothings into your hair.

He had explained his regrets the first few days that you had refused to even look at him, simply staring at the wall as he stripped you of your clothes to redo your bandages, not even the barest of reaction visible across your face. He had caused this. 

The first words you had muttered to him weren’t of hatred or anger or sadness- they were said into the heavy air, late into the hours before dusk at a point in time where your bones still couldn't support the burden of your body, 

“I need to pee.” 

You had said it through gritted teeth, had scowled throughout the process of him picking you up and carrying you into the bathroom, giving you privacy to do your business. 

The second time you had spoken to him was right after and it had somehow dented itself much deeper than he had expected it to, even as it was all he had been preparing himself for in the past few days, 

“I hate you.”

You had said it with no anger, no poison in your words- had simply stated it like it was a mere fact. 

“I know.”

—

It was weeks later and you seemed to have fallen into a strange routine.

He’d go out to do his filthy work, come back bathed in blood and dirt, even as he washed himself off outside thinking he was sly with it. You’d pretend not to notice as you’d cook for yourself, sometimes leaving bits behind as leftovers even if you had purposely spilled the extra bit of rice- had regretted it as soon as you had realised you had done it because he hadn’t had dinner in three days.

Perhaps it was the irony of the situation, and maybe even the cold winter air creeping into your bones that let him move from simply holding you when you woke from your nightmares- to him warming your bed at night even when you dreamed of nothing but the scar beside his lip. 

Still, you let him know you despised him every night that he pulled your body against his chest and every morning that he rubbed his warm hands up and down your arms. Even as you felt yourself leaning into his touch, felt your heart softening at how he’d mutter apologies into your hair while he thought you were asleep, how he’d pay attention to the foods you took more of and made sure to get twice the amount next time, how he’d shred his own shirts to provide you with cloth for when you got your monthly cycles. Yet, you couldn’t find any other words to say to him. 

𝙋𝙚𝙧𝙨𝙚𝙥𝙝𝙤𝙣𝙚- 𝙌𝙪𝙚𝙚𝙣 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙐𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙡𝙙 𝙂𝙤𝙙𝙙𝙚𝙨𝙨 𝙤𝙛 𝙨𝙥𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜, 𝙛𝙡𝙤𝙬𝙚𝙧𝙨, 𝙙𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙝, 𝙡𝙞𝙛𝙚, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙙𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙧𝙪𝙘𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣

You had woken up alone as you did on most mornings, grateful that you wouldn’t have to face the shame that came with having your limbs tangled with him. The day was like any other yet different, perhaps it was the monotonous dread of living a life such as this- of having to live at all after being stripped of everything you had called yours.

You had somehow ended up taking steps outside of the wooden door, outside of the small garden the burly man used to grow his own vegetables, and even farther outside the vines and shrubs that kept the cabin hidden from any unwanted visitors.

You had walked and walked till your feet carried you to the edge of the world, a never ending fall down below from where you stared at, the sound of water flowing signalling the presence of a river running deep under the steep cliff.

You had stopped walking, the silence of the forest being the only noise to have outdone the heavy emptiness in your heart in months. And you simply continued to stand there, bare feet digging into the dirt and grass and stone, barely realising when the light faded away and darkness took over. Hadn’t it always been like this? 

It had taken no more than two rounds of the house and the trail of footsteps in the garden out back for Toji to realise you had left. His heart had dropped into his chest as he had followed the dents of your feet in the ground, careful not to step on them as his mind bitterly reminded him that it may be the last of what’s left of you by now.

He knew where the trail you had walked along led- had himself sat on the edge of it once, legs dangling off as he his mind had replayed the memory of your glossy eyes and crestfallen face when he had hit you with those fatal words months ago. Toji’s breath hitches in his throat, hands shaking as he pulls away the last branch blocking the view of the edge of the cliff. 

His feet are moving faster than his mind can think as he all but falls onto his knees, clutching your abdomen as if you’d disappear forever if he let you go now. You turn around in his arms, a look of confusion on your face, your eyes still as hollow as a void but all he cares about right now is the steady thumping he can feel with his chest pressed to yours. He’s clenching his eyes shut, taking a deep breath before he’s sliding his hand into yours. You don’t protest- letting him lead you back into the warm safety of his house and he’s too relieved to consider whether your lack of resistance is a good thing or not. 

You’re sitting on the edge of the bed and you can hear him ruffling through something in the bathroom, door ajar, eyes glancing towards you every two seconds as if he’s expecting you to bolt out the door any second now. For once, you don’t want to stare at the wall as he walks towards you, getting down on his knees- making a blow of nostalgia hit you right in the gut. But your eyes remain fixed at the top of his head, at the dark locks that had grown out much more since the last time you had let yourself gaze at him. 

You only realise what he’s been doing as you notice the bowl of water kept on the floor, hands gently lifting up your dirty feet, cleaning them of the mud and the blood from small scrapes. He’s lifting up your legs onto the bed once he’s done, adjusting your pillow as a gesture for you to lay down. He’s blowing out the lamps and soon enough you feel the mattress dip, his arms engulfing you tighter than ever before. You can feel the slight tremble in them and you feel guilty for the small pinch in your chest. You wait for his breathing to steady, head to fall limp into the crook of your neck before you roll over towards him in the dark, eyes set on the small crinkle between his forehead and brow. 

The warm hand that cups Toji’s cheek has him convinced that he may have lost his mind. Opening his eyes, he knows for sure that you have. Especially as you slide your other hand into his, pulling it till it’s placed onto the crest between your collarbone and chest, adjusting it a little more towards the left. Toji’s staring intently at you, wondering if this is your way of telling him that you’re still alive- that even though you’ve been cursed and damned to living in this hell, your heart still beats- it still fights. 

Toji bares his own emotions through a gesture- pulling the small hand that holds his to the apex between his upper ribs- pressing it till your fingers feel like they might just pass through his flesh. He hopes you know that if he could, he’d snap each one of his ribs open so that you can reach inside and press the palm of your hand against his beating heart, rip it right out of his body and spit inside the hollow space of his ribs with contempt- even then he’d survive on your hatred alone if it means surviving with you for the rest of his life. 

“I don’t hate you.”

The words are whispered in the dead of the night with no emotion, no trace of forgiveness or affection- simply stated as if they are common knowledge.

The soft lips coming down on his own have his mind spinning. He realises what it is you wish for- to be able to live once again as a human, to feel once again as a mortal- he can almost almost hear you saying the words into his mouth as your fist bunches up the fabric of his shirt. 

“I’m tired of being a god.” 

He can feel his own sentiment being passed right through as his hands slide under the cloth of his shirt that you wore, exploring the expanse of your reverenced skin, mouthing his response against your cupid’s bow.

“I’ll worship you even after you fall from grace.” 

And he does, pulling himself up on arms above you, dipping his fingers into your soaking sex, making quick work of ridding you and himself of your clothes. He’s tucking your legs against your chest, feet dangling over his broad shoulders as he comes forward to meet your lips. He’s pulling away and you’re mewling at the loss of contact- the loss of his taste. 

“Do you want this? Do you want-” He takes a deep breath, forehead coming forward to press against yours till your noses brush against each other, “...me?”

Your response comes in the form of sliding your hands to the back of his head, pulling him forward till his lips crash against yours once more- bucking your hips up till the tip of his massive girth is brushing against your heat. He doesn’t miss the moan that escapes you, eagerly kissing you back, moving to litter a plethora of kisses against your jaw- your neck- your collarbone. When he comes back up to your face, he’s well aware of the effect he’s had on you- the want in your eyes as you lift your hips against his once more, a small plea leaving your mouth. 

The need that comes over him is animalistic as he moves a hand down to position himself before sliding into your soppy hole, he swears he can see stars with how hungrily you swallow him in. You’re gripping his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as he strokes your insides so languidly. Your faces are close enough for you to feel his breath on your mouth, to feel the fall of the hot droplets on your cheeks, your own tears of grief- of freedom- of a love gone to waste so long ago combining as he continues to thrust in and out of you deeply. 

He’s dipping his head and the tears are being kissed away as his hand moves down to play with your over sensitive bud. You can't stop peppering kisses against his lips, moaning his name in his ear as he hits a particular spot inside you. He can feel you getting closer with how your breaths get deeper, fingers moving faster, strokes getting sloppier. 

You feel the tight coil in your stomach start to unravel, and all it takes is for him to lower his head and suction his lips around one of your nipples for you to come apart underneath him. He’s reaching his own arousal soon after, pulling out to spray his seed onto your stomach. He all but collapses on top of you, rolling over to his side once he catches his breath, another hitching in his throat as he finds you crawling onto his lap, legs straddling his waist as you bury your face into his naked chest. 

This is what being a god feels like. The taste of wine coating your tongue and the way his lips meld with yours- swallow you whole and then spit you out. You reach for him again in the dark, his chest panting against yours as the moonlight cascading from the window hits his face. You rest your chin against the centre of his chest, looking up at him with droopy eyes, his own stare right back at you- filled with tenderness and affection. 

“No one will ever hurt you again, I promise.” 

His voice is gruff and heavy, but carries a sincerity warm enough to send tingles down your back. You can’t quite place the look on his face, it's determined- pointed. You can feel the unravelling of the violence beneath his skin as his hand comes to cradle your jaw, and you wonder just what kind of monsters the god of the underworld plans to unleash.

His hand moves to caress the back of your head, adoration-filled eyes raking over your still panting figure. He presses his lips to your temple and says your name like a prayer. It all floods in- the pain- the love- the sorrow- the joy- you’re sobbing and he’s holding you like he has time and again. Only this time, he finds himself awestruck by the spark of ember that comes alive in your eyes, even if just for a second, he knows you’re going to be fine. 

-

The god of the dead had bowed before you, offered you his crown, his throne- would have ripped off the flesh from his own back and handed it to you without any hesitation if only you asked. 

You were the goddess of spring and everyone had loved your life and light, but who except him had acknowledged the death and destruction that came along- had reached out their hands into the rotten parts of your flesh and kissed every bruise and scar?

This was Toji Fushiguro’s life now, coming back home to his precious darling each day- the only burst of spring in his everlasting winter, the only ray of light in his world swallowed by darkness.

Tonight, as you lay on him bare-bodied and covered in sweat from your previous feat, he finds you asking him about the season, about how far the harvest festival was. He’s confused at your sudden curiosity but answers you nonetheless, telling you it’s in a fortnight. He finds himself asking why. 

“Every single member of our blood attends the festival- they had waited for it while they kept me away.” 

It’s the first time you’re talking about the incident and he can feel you quiver in his arms. It makes his blood boil, and he finds himself protectively pulling you even closer into him. 

“...they had wanted each and every single one of them to get a chance to cut through my skin.” 

That’s all you say before falling asleep, the tears on Toji’s chest making a storm of anger rage inside his mind. 

--

It’s a fortnight later and Toji watches the red and orange hues of the flames making your face glow brighter than the sun. 

You’re standing there hand-in-hand with him, looking over the half wrecked ruins of the village, the screams of the people you had grown up with- who had taken no less than a second to turn their backs on you- who had left you to die- now echoing in your ears. Right on the edge of the hilltop you stand on, you see a small figure running towards the slope, clothes burnt, high pitched sobs filling the air as it succumbs to the heat that had spread through it’s bones.  

She must’ve been eight or nine years old judging from her size and half burnt frills of the frock she wore. You know she’s at peace, much like the many others who would’ve faced nothing but agonising hardships being raised in the hands of your cruel persecutors- all of whom lay as nothing but bones and ash and dust now. 

Toji’s worried that he’ll find the same emptiness he’s spent months breaking through as he glances over at your face. Instead, there’s a fire being reflected in your eyes, a sadistically deliciously smile stretched across your supple cheeks. He finds his own lips curving as he grips your jaw to turn your head and press his lips to yours, the screams and shouts of your monsters merely anything but white noise as your fingers come to tangle in his hair. 

After all, Hades may have been the god of the dead, but it was Persephone’s wrath which brought upon the destruction.

© suna-reversed — all rights reserved. please refrain from modifying, translating, reposting of any kind. plagiarism will NOT be tolerated.

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[ragingbookdragon]

Finding Love In The Louvre

A Bruce Wayne x Reader One-Shot

Word Count: 2.2K Warnings: None

Author's Note: An old story I edited! Enjoy the fluff! -Thorne

The day started as it usually did, her standing by the elevator, waiting for the doors to open so she could hand him his coffee and explain his schedule. Sure enough, the doors opened at eight A.M. on the dot, and he stepped out, briefcase in one hand, phone in the other. He shoved his phone in his pocket, accepting the outstretched coffee she held. He moved quickly, but she kept pace.

“Good morning Mr. Wayne.” He hummed in return, taking a sip of the coffee; she paid no mind, continuing with, “So today you have a board meeting in room one-forty-two,” His mouth opened to complain, but she held up a hand, silencing him, “I can’t put it off any longer, I’ve already tried.” He grumbled in return, causing her to smile lightly as she kept speaking.

“That starts in an hour, and it should end at eleven. I recommend after that you go and check with Lucius about the gala coming up while I order lunch. I should have that ready by twelve-fifteen, then the rest of the day is paperwork and the occasional friendly visit with the office workers.”

By the time she was done, he was taking a seat at his desk, shifting papers around. She stood with her tablet in one hand, the other propped on her hip. “Anything you need me to do before I go sit down?”

He handed her a sheet while he looked at the monitor, waiting for the retina scanner to start. “Fax that to Gotham Academy, if you would.”

She took it, looking it over before asking, “This for Damian’s field trip to the Louvre?” He nodded, and she murmured, “I still can’t believe you managed to talk the headmaster into letting you fly his class to France for a couple days.” She eyed him over the top of the paper. “You know you’re going to have to go, right? You got the trip allowed. It’d look bad on your part if you didn’t go.”

He finally looked over at her, a curious sparkle in his eyes. “Have you ever been to France, (Y/N)?”

She tipped her head side to side. “If you count a plane ride over France while on the way to Holland, then yes. But have I been to France? No.”

Bruce leaned back in his seat, hands curling around the arm rests of his seat. “Do you want to go?”

(Y/N) raised an eyebrow. “And keep an eye on a group of rambunctious teenagers? Uh…no. I already have enough trouble keeping your group in check.” Bruce gave a laugh at her words, but she followed with, “But if you need me to go with Damian, I can work it into the schedule.” He nodded, and she tapped at her screen. “Alright, I’ll fax the paperwork with our information for travel.” She turned, making her way to her desk when his voice reached her.

“Wait! Our inform—I’m going too?”

She simply threw a thumbs up, sitting at her desk.

***

She settled into the cushioned seat, a sigh of relief slipping through her lips.

An amused voice sounded beside her, “Getting comfortable (Y/N)?”

She hummed, pushing the button to recline her seat. “Eight hours in first class? Are you kidding me? Of course, I’m getting comfortable.” Bruce grinned, settling into his seat the same as her. She watched him groan as he lifted his legs, stretching them out.

A knowing tone came up and she said, “I told you not to wear hard-bottomed shoes. You should’ve gone with sneakers.”

“Why do you enjoy torturing me, (Y/N)?”

She laughed at his words, looking over at him. “I tell you not to do things and you do them anyway. It’s not hard to find the chastising humor in it.” Bruce opened his mouth to reply, but it was cut off by a small huff, and they both looked over, seeing his youngest son collapsing into a seat beside them. (Y/N) reached over, gently caressing the top of his head. “Don’t want to hang around with the simpletons anymore, Damian?”

He nodded and closed his eyes, curling up in the seat. “I have never met a group of kids more idiotic than my class.” His eyes flew open, and he leaned across the arm rest, a sneer on his face. “Just last week, that troglodyte Trevor made a comment so ridiculous, even his reasoning was absurd.”

(Y/N) nodded and asked, “What’d he say?”

Damian scoffed and replied, “He said that he wanted to be like Achilles because he looked cool.” She waved a hand for him to continue. “So, I said, ‘Really, you want to be a man that throws a tantrum when he doesn’t get his way?’ And this fool had the audacity to look at me like I had just asked him-”

His rant was cut off by Bruce, who said, “Damian, enough.”

Damian rolled his eyes whispering, “I cannot stand how stupid they are.”

(Y/N) snorted, leaning close and telling him, “Give them a chance, Damian.” The look he gave her made her wish she’d had a camera, and she continued with, “You have to remember, these people haven’t been schooled like you have. You’re more advanced than the average thirteen-year-old. They’re still learning how to switch classes without a teacher escorting them.”

Damian leaned back, a look of thought on his face, then he retorted, “They are still stupid.”

(Y/N) reached over, handing him a book. “Here kiddo. Keep yourself occupied.”

He took the book, flipping it over. “What is this, ‘Hell Divers’ about?” (Y/N) popped a cracker in her mouth, pointing to the back. He read it silently, then made a motion to hand it back. “Doesn’t look interesting.”

(Y/N) swallowed and put another cracker in her mouth, shifting it to the side of her cheek with her tongue as she pushed the book back. “I brought the whole series.” She grinned at him, holding up the set. “I bet you can’t read the entire thing by the time we land.”

Damian scowled, snatching the books from her, and opening the first one. She gave a satisfied smile and turned back to the front when she felt eyes on her. (Y/N) looked over, seeing Bruce staring at her, his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

She raised an eyebrow questioning, “What?”

He tipped his chin towards Damian. “How’d you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Get him to read something he didn’t find interesting?”

(Y/N) reached over and condescendingly patted his arm. “The same way I get you to buy new suits every gala.”

Bruce looked at her in confusion. “And that way is?”

(Y/N) reclined in her seat, pulling her blanket up to her chin and pulling the eye mask down her eyes. “I tell you that someone there might be able to out dress you, and that spurs you to make sure you look the best.”

She couldn’t see him, but she could picture his face and arms as he pouted, “So you manipulate me?”

“With all the care and affection you need Mr. Wayne.” And that was all she said before rolling over and curling up and drifting off.

***

“And stay with your guides at all times! Chaperones, if you get lost or separated from your guide, you have Mr. Wayne and my cellphone numbers, please call, do not stay lost!” (Y/N) looked at the chaperones and guides. “Does everyone understand?” Cheers and nods came from all sides, and she waved them off. “Then be free! Curfew is at nine P.M.! Be there before nine, please! And be careful!” Her words fell on deaf ears as the groups dispersed, and she groaned lightly, rubbing her temples.

A hand rested on her lower back and she looked up, seeing Bruce smiling at her. “Don’t worry so much, (Y/N). Everyone will be fine.” She nodded, trusting his words, then he tipped his head to the side. “Damian’s hailed a cab. Let’s go hit the Louvre, then we’ll go to lunch.” She followed him to where Damian was holding the car door and slid inside.

***

The drive didn’t take long, and soon they were walking around the museum. Damian had wandered off, waving his hand, and saying, “I can handle myself.”

She and Bruce simply nodded, watching him go before they set off themselves. They walked around, observing the pieces, until (Y/N) saw a particular one. Her feet sunk into the ground and she stopped, staring at it in admiration.

Bruce glanced between them. “Nike?”

She nodded, telling him, “I remember learning about her in Humanities back in community college, but I never actually imagined ever seeing her.” (Y/N) paused, a calm look coming across her face. “Pictures don’t do her justice. She’s more impressive than I thought. And bigger.”

Bruce listened to her, then asked quietly, “Do you like art, (Y/N)?”

She tipped her head side to side. “Here and there. I like pieces that catch my eye or look interesting.” She glanced at him. “I really enjoy history and science museums.” (Y/N) reached over, nudging him in the side. “Maybe for the next fieldtrip, you can fly us to D.C., and we can hit the Smithsonian.” (Y/N) stepped away and nodded to the next room. “C’mon, let’s go to the next exhibit.”

He fell into step beside her and as they observed the next piece he murmured, “Would you like to go to the Smithsonian, (Y/N)?”

She half focused on his words, absentmindedly replying, “Whenever the next field trip comes up, sure.”

A gentle grip took her hand and she looked over, seeing a serene look in his eyes, and he asked, “No…would you like to go to the Smithsonian…with me?”

(Y/N) blinked, then gestured clumsily between them. “Like…just us?” He nodded and she clarified, “Me and you…together?” He nodded again, a smile accompanying it, and she couldn’t help but ensure, “No one else? Just…us?”

Bruce huffed a laugh, gently squeezing her hand. “Just us.”

(Y/N) felt her cheeks warm, and she looked down, mumbling, “Oh…I…I don’t know if the schedule is clear…”

Another squeeze followed by, “As the boss, I can clear any and all plans made.”

Her heart fluttered at his words, but she pushed it aside, glancing back at him, her eyes firm. “Are you being serious with me right now? You’re not pulling joke?”

Bruce’s eyebrows furrowed and he admitted, “I don’t actually know if I should be offended that you think I’m playing a joke or not, but to answer your question, no, I’m not pulling a joke.” He let go of her hand, trailing his fingers up her forearm, the other arm curling around her. “I’m being one-hundred percent serious.”

He gave her a smile, blue eyes shining. “I would like it if you spent the weekend with me in D.C.” He paused, lips pulling downwards as he added, “Or just spent the weekend with me. We don’t have to go anywhere…if we’re together, that’s all that matters to me. I just really want you—”

(Y/N) cut him off, pressing her lips to his cheek. He grinned at her, watching as she murmured, “I would love to go to D.C. with you, Bruce.” She pulled away, slipping out of his grip, and wandering off towards the next room. He stared at her back, heart thumping in his chest when a voice sounded below him.

“Took you long enough.” His mood soured, and he looked down, seeing Damian standing there, arms crossed over his chest.

“When did you get here?” He asked.

Damian glanced up at him and muttered, “Since the start of your embarrassing courting.” Bruce reached over and ruffled his hair, laughing at how Damian slapped his hand, a glare in his eyes.

“It wasn’t embarrassing.”

“Not to you. But the others were considering throwing up.”

Bruce’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Others?”

Damian simply held up his phone, and Bruce looked into the eyes of his other sons who were returning his gaze, albeit smugly.

“So, (Y/N)’s finally gonna join the fray? Cool!”

A hand shoved Dick’s head aside, and Jason looked into the camera. “I’m seriously surprised it took you this long, old man. I mean, how long has she been your secretary? When Dick got there?”

A new voice picked up from the side, and Tim’s head squeezed into view. “Actually, (Y/N) was there before Dick got there. She was there when Bruce started working at W.E.”

Dick’s head shoved Jason’s aside, and his snarky grin appeared. “But the point is, nice going, Bruce! It’s only taken you like seventeen years to get her to go out with you! You must be one weird guy for it to take so long. Maybe it’s because—”

At this point, Bruce had grunted, turning on his heel and marching off after (Y/N). Dick sputtered through the camera, “Damian! Go after him! I haven’t finished explaining his problems!”

“There’s not enough time in the world to explain all the old man’s problems.”

“You’re one to talk, Jason.”

“I dare you to say that to my face replacement.”

Damian rolled his eyes, shutting off the phone and walking after his father, a smug smirk playing at his lips.

[scuttle-buttle]

Chapter 6

WC: 2855

Rated: E

Chapter Tags: period typical sexism, flirting, alcohol consumption, art stuff, discussions of sexuality & masterbation, soft

🖼

The day before the gala you insist on visiting the Uffizi Gallery. It was on your bucket list of museums to visit, and you knew that you wouldn’t be able to truly appreciate the artwork during the event. James was busy doing his own thing, gathering intel or what be. He had come by the room the night before to watch television but it only resulted in the two men bickering the whole time. Today was about you and Niki.

“Why do we need to come today if we will be here tomorrow?” he asks you as you first enter the museum. He takes in the opening foyer. It reminds him a bit of the way the hotel is set up. Tall domed ceilings patterned with carvings and tiles, and intricate marble and stone columns line the halls.

“Because I haven’t been here yet and it’s on my list. And I figure it will give you the chance to get a good look around, I know you were studying the blueprints the other day. But looking at a picture is nothing compared to seeing it in real life.” You lift your hands up to gesture around the room. The expression on your face screams excitement. Niki isn’t sure if you are talking about the building design or the art itself.

On your way into the first gallery you grab one of the little guide maps. Niki gives you a minute to study it. “Okay so we should head to the gardens first before it gets too warm outside, then we can come back and start from here,” you point to one of the rooms on the paper.

Exiting into the vast gardens you are met with a plethora of shrubbery and statues. Bright sunshine warms the geometric pathways criss-crossing the yard. Niki trails behind you as you take in everything. At some point you pull a Kodak out of your bag. The clicking of your camera adds to the music of gentle chatter and rushing fountains around you.

He was glad to have brought his sunglasses along, as the midday Mediterranean sun was blinding. It helped to be able to disguise his line of sight too, as he watched you float through the gardens, hands reaching out to dust across a stray vine, or to gently lift a budding flower to your nose. Once more Niki was struck by how perfect you looked surrounded by the greenery and flora.

As he surveys the gardens from his spot on the gravel he hears more shuttering from your camera. Turning in your direction you've got the lens pointed at him. His brows scrunch. "Are you taking my picture?"

"How else am I supposed to remember today?" you retort with a grin as you take another photograph of him. "Believe it or not, you're a real work of art yourself, baby."

Niki snorts at your flirt. "If it's one of us that belongs in a museum for being a piece of art it's not me," he whips back.

You drop the camera from your face. The first thing that comes to mind is "well butter my butt and call me a biscuit." Which is about the dumbest thing you could have possibly said.

"Butter your-?" he blinks at you.

"You ever been to the American south?" Niki shakes his head. "That's what they say when they're surprised."

"And?" He has no idea where you're going with this.

You huff out a laugh. "And?!" You walk right up into his space and whisper loudly "and - after an entire week of me teasing you, Niki fucking Lauda finally flirts back. I’m proud.” By now your chests are nearly pressed together with how close you stand, and your lips are stretched wide in your amusement. “Smile.”

Niki finds himself distracted by the scent of you mixed with the flowers that surround you. “What?”

“Smile,” you command again. Out of the corner of his eye he sees movement. You had lifted your camera and taken a snapshot of the two of you as you locked eyes. Turning to face the lens you nudge him with your elbow; he turns towards the camera at your insistent prodding. For your sake he does put on a small grin for the second picture.

“Come on, let’s go check out the galleries.” You stride off, leaving Niki to follow in your footsteps.

Time loses all meaning as you make your way through the different rooms and exhibits. Art isn’t really Niki’s interest, but he makes an effort to see the works the way you do. Sometimes he asks questions about a particular piece you find interesting. You have the sneaking suspicion that he isn’t actually curious about what he’s asking, but instead that he just wants to hear you talk.

“Can I ask you a question,” you inquire quietly as you tug him to stand in front of a portrait of a nude woman.

“If it’s about art then I can’t help you; women," he nods to the painting, "maybe,” he jokes.

“No,” a giggle slips out of you. “You were reading that racing magazine the other day, so I assume you like the sport? The cars?”

“I do, yes.”

“Why? What about the machine draws you to it?”

Niki is caught off guard by your question. He runs his tongue over his lips as he contemplates his answer. “It’s fascinating because of the thrill, because the line between life and death is being walked. The absoluteness and decisiveness, make one wrong decision and it could cost you your life. But for the car?” He moves his gaze to you, only to find your eyes locked onto his face. “It’s a deathtrap, really. But... it's made of thousands of little pieces of metal that all fit together. And when they come together they move and the engine purrs and you can feel it through your whole body. One thing wrong and you know because of the feel. Put the man and the car together and it’s-” he grunts. He shrugs after a pause. “All the poetry is bullshit,” he waves his fingers as if to dismiss himself.

“Niki?” He meets your eyes again. “That’s art. Every piece of metal that makes up those cars? It's in the brushstrokes of every painting; each color, each texture. By itself it has little meaning, but put it together-” you hold your hand up to the painting “-you get a masterpiece.”

He knows he should be looking at the portrait of the women on the bed, but he can’t help but look at you instead. “Tell me about this one,” Niki asks. His voice is hushed, the accent thick.

“This,” you sigh, “is Venus of Urbino. She was painted by Titian in the mid 16th century Renaissance period. A young woman preparing for marriage. It’s meant to be provocative. Look at her,” you point to her face, “look how she stares at you. It’s piercing. She wants you to see her. She’s not ashamed of her nakedness. Her skin, made of the softest porcelain. The slope of her breasts, the softness of her stomach and thighs. Her cheeks, rosy and flushed with life. Yet, she covers herself as if to show her innocence? Or perhaps it is the opposite - perhaps she really is displaying the ideal of the goddess of love, her namesake Venus, by touching herself intimately as a sign of self love. You can’t help but fall for her just a little bit.”

As he listens Niki realizes that he knows exactly what you speak of. That you are, in a way, his Venus of Urbino.

You make your way through the remaining rooms of the gallery, stopping to admire the art in each. As you stand admiring the carved stone of some age-old Roman hero your thoughts drift to the Austrian accompanying you. He stands on the other side of the statue reading the placard at its base. It strikes you that his dark curls are mirrored in the marble figure before you. In a way Niki is just like the carving - a strong willed man set out to complete some task that would bring glory to him. It makes you wonder if underneath his polos and patterned button ups if Niki truly is the living embodiment of this godly figure.

-

Each step you took felt like walking on pins and needles. The second the door to your suite closed behind you the shoes were being kicked off, a deep groan leaving you as you pushed your toes into the plush carpet. Niki had made his way over to the couch, clicking on the TV to a local news station. You head to the little bar cart in the corner of the main room. Selecting a nice red, you pour yourself a glass.

You hadn’t meant to spend the entire day at the gallery. All the colors and lines and brushstrokes pulled you in, captivating you to the preciseness of everything. The marble statues so lifelike it was as if you could caress the smooth lines; indent your fingers into the supple flesh as you would a lover. It wasn’t until a security guard informed you that the gallery was closing did you realize you had spent the entire day roaming the halls. Niki didn’t object once as you had dragged him from gallery to gallery. He listened dutifully as you explained different pieces and the artists and anything else relevant that came to your mind.

The television droned on. Niki sat perched on one end of the couch, his legs spread comfortably wide. For a flash you ponder what it would be like to drape yourself over his strong thighs. You take a large chug of the wine, as if it could chase away the uncouth thoughts of your faux-fiance. You stride over to the sofa and plop down. Without allowing yourself time to overthink it, you swing your legs to rest over his lap.

Niki makes a noise of surprise as you settle your legs over his thigh. He quickly moves past it, bringing his hand to delicately rest atop your ankle as he returns his attention back to the television. You watch him from where you lean against the arm of the couch. He’s focused so intently on the weather report as if it was the most important thing in the universe. His mouth is pursed in thought. You wonder if he knows just how precious it is when he chews on his smaller bottom lip, the flesh pulled taut between his protruding teeth.

A tickling sensation draws your eyes down. Ever so slowly his thumb brushes the boney skin of your ankle. The pads of Niki’s fingers are calloused with use, but send tingles up your spine. You don’t want the warm weight of his hand to leave you, so you draw it out. “Rub my feet, will you? They’re sore.”

“Maybe next time wear better shoes for walking. Heels are not good support.” Niki breaks away from the television to study you briefly. Nonetheless, he begins to massage along the soles of your aching feet.

“Mmm but they looked good with my outfit,” you give a pitiful frown.

“Yes,” slips out of his lips before he can stop himself. The movement of his hands falters a second before he resumes the press of his thumbs into the tender flesh. A faint pink dusts his cheekbones. In all honesty, you can feel the heat creep up your own neck at his admission.

“Tomorrow’s the big debut…” you trail off. Eyeing him over the rim of your glass you see his brows twitch. A warped image of the ring on your finger can be seen through the glass you hold.

Niki turns to face you. “Are you nervous?”

“Me?” you blow a puff of air out. “Never.” You tap the side of your wine glass once. Twice. The metal clinks where it connects. “But,” your mouth hangs open for a pause, “I do think we should get to know each other a little better beforehand. For the cover, of course,” rushes out.

“What do you want to know?” He twists his torso in your direction.

You decide to start off easy. “Favorite color?”

“Red.”

“Favorite food?”

He thinks for a beat. “Schnitzel with warm potato salad. My Oma made it for me when I was young.” A crooked smile breaks out on his face and you think it just might be the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen.

You nudge his leg with your toe, “maybe after all this is over you can make it for me.”

He scrunches his nose. “I can’t cook, not like that anyway.”

“What? Niki it’s 1978, you’ve got to learn how to cook for yourself,” you chuckle. “Your wife? girlfriend? does the cooking for you at home…?” You never thought to ask before if he was attached. You’d feel pretty shitty if you were constantly trying to flirt with a taken man, let alone for the less-than-wholesome thoughts you’ve had.

“No, no, there’s no one at home.” Niki flits his eye back to the television before he asks “and you? What’s your boyfriend have to say about all this?”

“Who says I’ve got a boyfriend?” His head whips back to you so fast you don’t know how he doesn’t break his neck. You hide your laugh behind your hand. “Nobody wants to be with a woman like me, Niki. I’m no housewife, obviously. Most people find my lifestyle a bit hard to keep up with, if not too emasculating for them. Speaking of - we need to set our story straight.”

“What do you mean?”

“How’d we meet, what do we like to do together, that kind of thing. For if we’re asked tomorrow.”

“I’m not sure,” he shrugs.

“Okay... well if you had to come up with something what would you say?” You’re honestly curious to what he can make up.

Niki thinks for a minute. What would be believable for the two of you? His mind drifted back to the museum earlier, the way you drifted from piece to piece, almost like a fairy or an angel. “Ah… I would say I first saw you at an art museum in Vienna that I am investing in and thought that I had to meet you, I had to meet this gorgeous woman. That you were more beautiful than any of the artwork they had in there. So I approached you and asked you for coffee. You say yes. We spend the next two weeks together and when it’s time for you to leave I ask you to stay. You do. Six months later I ask you to be my wife."

The ease at which he strings together the narrative is almost frightening. You don’t react right away, your silence causing anxiety to pit in his stomach. What if he had said something wrong? What if he had let on too much?

The story is simple yet charming. You swallow down the sudden longing you feel. But it’s all for the mission, for the cover story, you have to remind yourself. “Shit, Niki,” your soft laugh pierces the air. “You didn’t tell me you were a romantic. You sure you don’t have someone waiting back home?”

Niki’s lips turn down at your question. “I’m not… the easiest to get on with. That’s why they stuck me with that arschloch Hunt. I’m sure you have noticed by now.” He didn’t like for people to know how insecure he could really be. It was easier for him to just be frank with his thoughts and ideas; his tolerance for bullshit was low. Get in, get out, get it over with.

Leaning your head onto the back of the couch you ask “you want to know what I think?” He tilts his head expectantly. “I think,” you start, “that if people took the time to really sit down with you, they would get to know the real Niki. And if they don’t want to do that, then fuck ‘em,” you wave your now empty glass through the air.

The two of you talk about everything and nothing for hours. Where you went to school, your favorite music, hobbies, and more. Niki tells you the story of how he tried to get into racing when he was a teenager, but didn’t think he was quite good enough to make a full career out of it. You told him about how you almost joined a hippie commune in California when you first graduated high school. By the time you glanced at the clock it was nearly midnight.

With a yawn you stand up from the couch. “We should get sleep, tomorrow we need to be well rested.” Trailing around the couch you brush your hand along Niki’s shoulder, giving him a light squeeze. When you reach the door to the room you face back, telling him “sleep well, Niki.”

Despite how tired you are you toss and turn in bed most of the night; thoughts on tomorrow, thoughts on the man in the other room.

Tag list: @ay0nha @apparrio @livvyshmiv @fictionlandslanddreams @vinylrosess @typical-bistander @ntlmundy @mymagicsuitcase @anteroom-of-death @somethingthatsaysbubbles @lieutenantn @multiversemarielle @trashbin2 @whatawildone @metalbreakfast @laura-naruto-fan1998 @greeneyedblondie44 @godidontevenknowwhat @marchingicenotes7 @mysticalexpertdaze

@loliissmut @fandom-princess-forevermore @lorna-d-m @zemosimp05 @hungrhay

@everythingbeginsineternity-blog @danielbruhlswife @i-am-dead-inside-666

[nanagoswife]

Please, Don't Go. - Chapter 8

Summary: You arrive home, but it isn't the same.

W/C: 1.9k

Warnings: angst

- - -

Usually, you would be excited for this moment. You would be anxiously waiting for the door to open and reveal any waiting loved one’s and any other’s from the cabinet or people from around the planet.

Today, you couldn’t bring yourself to feel the same joy. The faces that would usually greet you wouldn’t be there. Sure, Davin would be there to greet you, but Captain Baize wouldn’t be. Your parents wouldn’t be. Who knows who else would no longer be waiting on the landing pad because of this.

So, you weren’t waiting impatiently at the door. No, you were in the cockpit with Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon. You watched as the usually bright, joyful city seemed dull and sad. Maybe this could be a project for you. Bring back the usual optimism your planet was so well known for.

While the Jedi piloted the shuttle’s descent to the palace platform, you just stared blankly out of the viewport. You were so unfocused that you didn’t notice that the ship had touched down. You hadn’t noticed that both Jedi had gotten up until Obi-Wan placed a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“Are you alright?” He knelt beside you, eyes soft as they searched yours, but you looked back out the viewport.

“The planet just seems so… grey. How much did my brother have to sacrifice for the people’s safety.” Your eyes drifted down to the floor as you couldn’t help but think of the losses that have occurred.

Obi-Wan made sure the two of you were alone before using his thumb and index finger to lift your head. He wanted you to see his eyes and show you how he wanted to comfort you. That, and he wanted to see your eyes, no matter how much pain they showed. There was so much he would give to wipe the pain away, but he always loved seeing your eyes. Of everything, they were the one thing that showed your true emotions. They were the one thing that only he could read fluently.

Tears were building in your eyes as you looked at him. Gently, he moved his hand from your chin to cupping your cheek. Closing your eyes, you leaned into his touch. The tears that had been building slowly rolled down your cheek but were caught by Obi-Wan’s thumb.

“Darling, it will be alright. If anyone can turn this around, I know, without a doubt in my mind, that you will be the one,” he started in the softest tone he could muster. He slowly brought his hand down and placed it over your heart. “This holds so much love. Selfless love for everyone. Even for lives that you may never meet. It’s an admirable trait that so few have, especially in your position. If you use that, you will restore what your planet usually is.”

If tears weren’t flowing before, they sure were now. How did you, in the whole of the galaxy, manage to be loved by this man. A man you were sure you didn’t deserve. A man that never skipped a beat to make you smile when you were down. Now was no exception.

You brought one of your hands and placed it over his. His mission was to make you smile, and it was a success. There was no way to hold it back when he was looking up so adoringly into your eyes.

“There you are,” he breathed when he saw your smile. If it was the last thing he did, it would be to make you smile. “Now, are you ready to brave whatever waits for you out there?”

Smile still spreading your lips, you nodded. With that, he stood and offered his hand and easily slipped your arm through his when you stood. For as long as he could, he wanted to comfort you before you had to face any of this.

Leading you towards the door, you stopped in your tracks just before you would be seen. You needed to gather yourself before stepping out. Obi-Wan whispered something in encouragement as you took a few deep breaths. When you were ready, you stepped into the doorway, Obi-Wan had to drop your arm and now respectfully followed you.

There was not much time to process anything as Davin crashed into you, pulling you tightly into his embrace. Without a single second of hesitation, you returned his embrace with the same tightness.

“I missed you,” he started to say, muffled as his head buried into your shoulder. “There was so much that I wish I had you for. You were always better at politics than me and- and-”

“Shh, Davin,” you whispered as you imitated a motion you had seen your mother do for your brother so much. You ran two fingers down the back of his skull, all the way down the centre until it met his spine. When you hit the collar of his shirt, you repeated the motion over and over again. This seemed to be the only way that could ever calm your brother down.

When he pulled back from you, he sniffled and wiped away any traces of tears from his eyes. “I’m sorry, there isn’t much of a greeting party. I’m the only one here.”

“And that’s all that matters.”

For a brief moment, Davin’s usual smile appeared. It brought a familiar warmth that you hadn’t felt for months. This was a familial feeling. One that Obi-Wan had brought to you in one way, but not like this.

“Shall we go in?”

Davin’s smile appeared once again as he agreed. With that, the two Jedi followed you and your brother into the palace.

-

Obi-Wan didn’t know what to do with himself. As soon as you arrived, you basically had gone straight to work. Your brother had tried to keep you from doing it, but you insisted.

“I need to know everything that had happened while we were gone as soon as I can if I want to help our people,” you had argued. Obi-Wan couldn’t help but admire the way you vaguely mentioned him and Qui-Gon. Sure, there were many reasons you would use this wording, but he knew you meant it as a subtle nod to the time.

Now, he was wandering aimlessly through the palace. Qui-Gon had insisted on Obi-Wan taking an undeserving break. Deep down, though, he knew that his master was referring to the events from a few nights ago. He was meaning that Obi-Wan needed to reflect while his master got actual rest.

Obi-Wan had reflected for hours. Between that night with you, the last few days travelling back to your home and these silent hours walking through the palace, he had a clearer mind than he probably ever did.

At this particular moment, he was just trying to find things to pass his time. He had everything available to him. All except your company. To feel like he was in your presence, he decided to walk the same route that you had with him the night before you left.

Looking back to that night, he couldn’t keep himself from smiling. The pure optimism you exhibited, the passion you had as you explained every piece of art and detail carved into the structure, it was all magnificent.

As he made his way, he stopped at one of the paintings. This was the one that you had been the most ardent about. It was a painting of you and Captain Baize dancing together during a gala. You had told him that, beside a painting of your parents and the portrait of your family of four, this was one of the most famous ones. Apparently many of your people around the planet had a copy of this painting. It was also a popular one in any political office.

You had told him that everyone loved it because everyone not only adored you, but you and Baize had been a famous dynamic. Everyone would just marvel in watching the two of you come to shelters and anything humanitarian related. Your whole family did these things, but you and Baize had done it the most frequently. The two of you were the exact image that your planet wanted to convey to everyone.

“Which is always why I never understood why this is the famous picture of us,” you had said, puzzled but chuckling. “I guess we were like the famous uncle and niece, in a way.”

Obi-Wan felt as a small smile pulled at his lips. There was so much about this memory that made him wish you were with him now.

“Obi?” He was startled and slightly jumped as he suddenly heard your voice.

You chuckled at his reaction as he turned to face him. Had he really that deep in thought?

“Did you miss me that much? That you came here just to see me?” you teased as you walked towards him.

He raised an eyebrow in amusement as he met your eyes, “What if I did?”

After taking a look around, you wrapped your arms around him. You rested your head on his shoulder and let out a content sigh when you felt his arms wrap around you.

“Then, I would say that’s very sweet of you,” you said, your words muffled by the fabric of his brown cloak. “But you should’ve come to actually see me instead.”

“I didn’t want to disturb your work, darling.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle. This was your Obi-Wan. Ever considerate and never wanting to be a nuisance, even when he wouldn’t be.

“Well, you wouldn’t have been a disruption. Only a suitability.”

“Was it that bad?”

All you did was grunt in agreement as you dug your face even further into his shoulder. He couldn’t help but let his heart swell at the motion. Ever so slowly, you moved so that you were now resting in the crook of his neck. It was a comfort to you both every time.

“Do you know how much longer you have before you need to go back?”

The question took him by surprise. But, he actually had an answer that would be bittersweet.

“Actually, the council is still suspicious about how almost nothing happened during the months. Someone also had gone to them saying that someone was sabotaging your planet’s government. So, Qui-Gon and I are staying to investigate.”

There were so many emotions that danced across your face. For now, you decided to focus on the fact that you would have more time with him. Everything else could wait until later.

You moved again so that you could press a kiss to his neck which sent a shiver down his spine, “Well, at least we have more time together.” You continued to press light kisses to the skin of his neck.

As your lips continued to trail up to his jaw, he let out a groan. Slowly, you moved your hands to rest on his chest.

“Darling-” he was cut off as your lips pressed to his.

He chuckled and moved his hands to your arms and gently pushed you away.

“Dearest, we’re still in public.”

You let out an irritated sigh as you knew he was right. “Would you join me, then?”

“Are you sure?”

“As sure as I am that I love you.”

@stardancerluv @where-fantasy-meets-reality @jaydenwoo @madmax2003 @generousrunawaydonut @mackycat11

[pikemoreno]

and then i’d kiss you

pairing: marcus pike x f!reader

summary: when going undercover requires you be fake married to your longtime work crush... because of course that’s how life is going right now.

word count: 3.6k

warnings: mentions of guns, excessive pining

a/n: an idea sparked by discussions with @hdlynn​ and @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa​ about undercover!fake married!marcus. shoutout to them for the inspiration and being my think tank.

(also i hate trying to name things)

***

You slid into the conference room right at the end of the briefing, coffee in hand. Marcus stood at the front of the room, presenting the case you’d been building with the rest of the team. You’d been doing so much planning and research for the sting that you had almost forgotten about the meeting for it, so you inconspicuously took a seat at the back, pretending that you’d been there the whole time, and listened as Marcus closed. 

“The gala is tomorrow evening at The National Gallery. Very fancy, very exclusive. Our targets are, as I’m sure you guessed, Mitch Pimpkin and Harriet Smith.” Their images appeared on the monitor in the conference room and every member of the team groaned. These two had been a thorn in your team’s side for months. They were particularly good at what they did. They were dangerous, not afraid of casualties, and they always covered their tracks. Agent Pike continued, “They are confirmed to be attending the gala. They are supposed to be meeting with three clients at the event. The clients are already in custody, but Mitch and Harriet don’t know that. So that’s our in.” Suddenly he called you up to explain the rest of the plan and you just about had a spit take with your coffee, looking at him wide-eyed. The look on his face told you he caught you coming in late and putting you on the spot was now the revenge. You glared at him, but the shit-eating grin remained on his face. 

“Yeah, so, “ you stumbled, trying to find your bearings as you joined him at the front of the room, “According to the information we got out of the clients, Mitch and Harriet have never actually seen them, so we’ll be sending in three agents undercover. They will pretend to be the clients and catch them red-handed,” you nodded to Marcus and he put the pictures of the three apprehended clients along with their basic information up on the monitors. “First is a single buyer meeting with Harriet, name is Natalie Reyes. A real femme fatale type. Should be fun. Anyone feeling particularly strongly about acting as Ms. Reyes? Maria, interested?” You looked to the agent sitting directly in front of you.

“Yeah, I’m down,” she grinned. She was going to enjoy this way too much.

“Now the other two that are meeting with Mitch are a married couple. Allison and Shane Morgan. They’re attached at the hip, extremely into each other.” You rolled your eyes, experiences with them in the interrogation room painting your memories. “Gotta be a pretty convincing couple or Mitch will catch on. As we all know, he is extremely intuitive. He’ll run at the first sight of a lie. Anyone with any secret relationships wanting to make-out on the job?” Everyone laughed, but no one volunteered. 

You missed the way one of your fellow agents, Logan, looked at Marcus. And you certainly missed the way Marcus looked back at him. 

Don’t you dare.

Logan spoke up. “Well, if no one wants to volunteer, maybe it should be you two.” You gaped; Marcus pinched the bridge of his nose. “After all, it’s your plan and you are the only ones to have met the couple.” 

“Plus, you two go on assignments like this all the time. You’re closer than anyone else in this room. You would probably be the most convincing,” Maria chimed in. 

The look you gave her was murderous. She wouldn’t dare. She knew all about the little crush you had. You’d trusted her with that information-- actually she’d figured it out, but that was beside the point-- and now she was about to ruin everything. The most frustrating part, though, was that you couldn’t argue with any of that logic. She was completely right.

And that is how you ended up at Pike’s front door in a form-fitting black cocktail dress that flared out just enough to hide the thigh-holster and concealed gun. That was paired with strappy heels that were probably going to leave your feet numb within the hour. The duality of the job. You played nervously with the golden necklace that weighed heavy on your neck while you stood there, preparing yourself to knock. It was all starting once you made your presence known. Tonight, you were going to have everything you wanted in all the wrong ways. It was going to be so easy to pretend, because it wouldn’t be pretend. You would be feeling every word you uttered. But it wouldn’t matter after you took these heels off tonight. Lord, did it hurt thinking of how it was going to be on his end. It was all pretend to him: every touch of his hand to your back, every interlacing of fingers, every whispered compliment to make you blush, every-- God forbid-- kiss that was to come tonight was untruthful. It was all part of the gig and you resented it.

You didn’t know Marcus was sitting on the other side of the door, waiting for the minute you knocked, thinking shockingly similar things. You had no way of knowing that. You had no way of ever guessing that he was both anticipating and dreading the way your hand would brush his, how you would look at him like he’d hung the stars, how you would maybe even dare to kiss him. It was all for show and it made his stomach turn to think about it. 

He blamed himself. If he had come clean months ago, he would’ve never been put in this situation, no matter what your response was. You would either be really kissing him tonight or else no one would’ve dared suggest that you be a fake couple due to “your history.” Either of those scenarios would be preferable to pretending that he wasn’t shaking right now, waiting for the best and worst night he’d had in DC so far.

You finally knocked.

He jumped up to answer the door.

Time stopped with two people looking at each other like it was the first time all over again. 

He looked more handsome than you’d ever seen him before. He wore suits almost every day, but this was different. He looked nothing short of elegant in a black suit and bowtie, accents of a dark burgundy through the ensemble. His actual appearance was much the same, but elevated somehow. The facial hair was a newer addition to his look in general, but it looked its best tonight, accentuating his jaw line, making it sharper and more defined. His deep brown eyes took on a new color tonight with the way they sparkled and brightened in the early twilight’s light. 

Damn, your fake husband was fine. And it killed you.

Of course you were no better with your perfectly fitting dress and the beautiful jewelry that made you look like one of the art pieces you were protecting tonight and the heels that looked like they couldn’t be comfortable to him, but oh did they draw attention to your legs in the best way. You were beautiful every day in his eyes, but the way you’d so elegantly done your hair and make-up served to accentuate that. The smile that slowly spread across your face was what really did him in, though. It was the smile he saw every day, but tonight it seemed extra special.

He’d have to be swatting others away left and right to keep them away from his fake wife tonight. But there was nothing actually tying you to him. Someone else could sweep you off your feet tonight and you’d have nothing to keep you around. And it hurt.

There was a beat of silence as all of these thoughts arose and swirled around each other. 

“Uh- ready to go?” he initiated finally.

“Yep- yep let’s go. Can’t keep our convicts waiting, can we?”

“Oh, before I forget,” he patted his pockets, searching, before pulling out a ring.

Of course. You hadn’t even considered wearing a fake ring. That would’ve been a dead giveaway. He was so good at all of this.

“May I?” he asked, just above a whisper. You nodded and he slid the piece on your ring finger, gently holding your left hand in his. Your stomach flipped, swallowing hard at the lump that formed in your throat. There was nervous laughter from both sides as you looked at it now settled on your finger. He slid his own on and shook his head.

“Feels weird to be wearing this again,” he curled and flexed his fingers around the piece.

“Were these--” you started, but found yourself unable to finish. 

“They were,” he smiled sadly, “Not sure why I kept them. But at least we’ve found a use for them, hmm?”

“Yeah, great thinking, by the way. I would’ve never clocked that, but Mitch definitely would’ve. And might I say,” you studied the simple, stunning ring in the fading light, “You have excellent taste, fake husband.” The warmth went straight to his cheeks.

You can have it someday, if you want. 

Is what he almost said, but this was just two kids playing dress up (and anyway, he would’ve bought you a new ring if it came to that).

“Shall we, fake wife?” he put out his arm for you to take. You did with a plastered on smile. You tried to miss the warmth of his other hand as it came to rest on yours.

***

The National Gallery was already beautiful in its own right, but the coordinators of the gala really went all out with ornate chandeliers and furniture being brought in just for the event. Even the food tables were gold and sparkly, filled with all kinds of food you didn’t recognize and were frankly scared to eat. You inconspicuously rendezvoused with Maria, giving her a quick hug and pretending to introduce her to Marcus. 

“Spot them yet?” you mumbled to her, thankfully covered by the echoing sounds of the other attendees and the music that was accompanying the dancing in the center of the ballroom.

“Just arrived. 6 o’clock and 10 o’clock. She’s upstairs at the railing, he’s downstairs.” You clocked them both.

“You start with Harriet first. We’ll stall for a few minutes so we’re available for back-up. I’ll be expecting a ‘cuffed’ text in 15 minutes. If I don’t get one, we’ll come check on you unless you tell us otherwise. Copy?”

“Copy.” You exchanged more plastic smiles and parted ways, though you didn’t miss the wink she directed at you, eyeing you and Marcus standing there together. His arm came around your shoulder as you walked off. You played with his fingers there in true rich-fake-wife fashion. 

“Now how will we stall for time, sweetheart?” You fought with the tightness in your chest. The dichotomy between words meant only for you to hear and the term of endearment that came with the act confused you. There was no use for such words with all the noise, so why use them?

“Shall we join them, my love?” you nodded towards the people dancing.

You wouldn't have known but his stomach flipped so violently at the name that he thought he might be sick. 

He nodded and grinned, leading you by the hand. His hands found your waist as you joined the others in their swaying and dancing to the classical music. Your hands looped around to the back of his neck and you absentmindedly played with the short hairs there. It was as soft and thick as you had thought it would be.

Not that you’d made a habit of imagining it, of course.

“Maria is on the move with Harriet. They look like they’re having a nice talk,” Marcus laughed, looking over your shoulder.

“That’s a good sign,” you sighed, pretending to scan the room, but purposefully finding Mitch chatting with another guest. You looked back to Marcus, focusing your full senses on the music and how you were moving with it, the pressure you felt on your waist, and how his eyes were somehow even deeper this close.

You almost missed Mitch leaving your vision, heading up stairs. 

“Mitch is on the move,” you hissed, a little disappointed over the loss of Marcus’s hands on your waist as you left the dancers to trail the target. Though you took the steps maybe little too quickly to be just a normal couple, your hands swung, connected between you, hoping to still pass as a couple just looking for a quiet place to get away from the bustling party. 

You stopped in a small, sparse exhibition room, hearing Mitch’s voice on the phone around the corner. The broken words you heard sounded like he was talking about a different deal entirely. You breathed a little easier. He wasn’t suspicious of you and wasn’t calling back-up. 

But he would be if you didn’t think quickly. 

You heard him say his goodbyes to the associate and you knew what came next. There was only one way out of the room and it was behind you. You were too close to him to try to get back out unnoticed. So you did the only thing you could think of. You could only hope that Marcus wouldn’t be totally appalled. 

“Marcus, kiss me,” you whispered, noticing you were still holding his hand, you gripped it tighter.

“What?” he whispered back, not… Appalled exactly, but surprised. You couldn’t blame that, you guessed.

“He’s coming back this way. Kiss me.” You saw it in his eyes as the plan suddenly clicked for him. 

Mitch’s footsteps began clicking against tile and your back was all at once pressed against the wall closest to you, hands meeting either side of your face.

“Sorry about this.”

He was hardly sorry.

You weren’t either.

And, damn, did he kiss you. It started hesitant, barely there, but it didn’t stay that way. Once you heard Mitch round the corner, you deepened the kiss- that’s the only reason you did right? Because he was coming?-- letting your lips part, fingers weaving through Marcus’s hair.

He caught on, responding, taking the space your lips allowed. One hand came down to your ass, your leg hitched up around his waist. Just to really sell it-- that’s the only reason he did it right? To sell it? 

You can just barely hear Mitch let out an annoyed huff at the sight over your heartbeat in your ears. 

But then came the hitch: Mitch gets another call, presumably an urgent one, because he doesn’t keep moving.

Which meant you had to keep kissing Marcus. 

You couldn’t say you hated that part, but you were really wishing it wasn’t a matter of life of death. 

“A fake? Where are you? ...  Stay there. I’m on my way,” he clicked off, running out of the room. You and Marcus broke apart finally, gasping for breath. But still the separation came too quickly, the lack of him everywhere such a stark contrast to the cool air spreading against your now too-warm skin.

“Maria,” you whispered to him, eyes wide. “He’s going after Maria.” He pulled his gun and you followed, at some point ditching your heels in favor of speed as you took off after the thief. You made a call to the rest of the team outside as you ran. “Plan aborted. Maria caught. Come inside to make the arrest.” 

You caught up just as Mitch pulled a gun on Maria who had hers already pointed at an unarmed Harriet, her hands in the air, phone smashed on the ground. You moved out to flank him while Marcus moved directly behind him.

“FBI. Drop your weapon,” Marcus announced. You watched Mitch wince, looking behind him and then over to where you stood. Then he smirked. You didn’t like that one bit.

“I see you two were having some fun on the job. Might have to bring that up in my interrogation. Doesn’t sound like FBI policy to me to--”

“Watch it, jackass,” you sneered. He chuckled and you hated that you let him get a rise out of you.

Back-up slammed in through the emergency exit to your left and it was game over. They cuffed Mitch and Harriet, taking them back outside with them while Maria went to get her injuries checked by medical. That left you and Marcus in the room alone, catching your breath on a garish, velvet covered bench. The silence was awkward until Marcus finally broke it.

“That was… Good thinking… Back there.” You laughed.

“That’s what you’re going with? ‘Good thinking’?” 

“Well, what do you want me to say?” he asked, a little frustrated

“I don’t know just--” you groaned, “Forget it. Nevermind.” You stood to face away from him, crossing your arms, and willing yourself not to get upset.

Of course you already guessed it hadn’t meant anything, but now hearing it out loud made it too real.

“Are you wanting me to say that I liked it?” Your stomach turned in the worst way. You would’ve never expected this kind of cruelty from him, but his voice wasn’t accusatory. It was… hopeful? “Because I did.” You spun around to face him. 

“You-- Marcus, don’t be funny about this.” He stood now, stepping in front of you.

“I’m not. I’ve wanted to do that for… Longer than I’d like to admit,” he confessed, a hand coming up to scratch the back of his neck, “Something about the way you’re acting right now tells me you might be thinking the same thing.” You smiled bashfully, thankful he was braver than you were.

“Yeah,” you brought a hand to rest on his cheek, “I loved this night with you-- other than all the life or death stuff.” He grinned, leaning into your hand. HIs bright eyes seemed to bore right through you, hanging on every word. “I was just wishing it was… Real. I guess it kind of was after all.”

“Oh, not even close.” You tilted your head in confusion, dropping your hand from where it was gently laid against his cheek. “I would’ve done it all very differently,” his voice dropped to a whisper, too close to need anything more. 

“How so?”

“Well,” his eyes darted to your lips and then back to meet your gaze, “May I?” You nodded vigorously. 

“Please.”

This kiss held nothing back. It wasn’t quite so vigorous as before, but was a slow and steady presence. No longer afraid to be truthful, it was free to be deep and passionate and real. So real. 

“Soooo, is this what Mitch was talking about earlier?” Maria’s voice interjected. You and Marcus scrambled away from each other to find her, arm bandaged, leaning against the doorframe of the emergency exit. “Don’t stop on my account, just be back to the bureau in an hour to debrief.” You both nodded sheepishly.

“We’ll be there,” you told her, finally finding your voice. She shook her head, smiling.

“Oh, everyone is going to love this.”

“Please don’t say anything, Maria.” 

“I have to,” she grinned. “We all had bets placed. I said you’d get together tonight, but Logan said it wouldn’t be until tomorrow. Looks like I won. Bye, you two.” 

“We’re never gonna hear the end of this,” Marcus murmured, kissing your forehead as you watched Maria leave again. 

“Never,” you agreed as you started walking hand-in-hand back to the car. “Hey, what else would you have done differently tonight? Just for… Curiosity's sake.” 

“Sure, that’s all it is,” he mused. “Well, I would’ve taken you on a proper date first, somewhere you didn’t have to wear those shoes that look like they’re--”

“Shit.” No shoes. You both looked down to find your bare feet and started laughing far too loud for the middle of this pristine gala. Everyone stared. You couldn’t care less now. There was no act. You shrugged, “Good riddance. Keep going, keep going. What else?”

“On that proper date I would’ve told you that I’ve been wanting to ask you out since the first assignment we had together. I thought you were beautiful, of course, but it was really the way you worked. You were so on top of everything-- saved my ass more than once. You had such an incredible work ethic, but you made it all so fun. Like now, we’re laughing about you walking through The National Gallery with no shoes after facing multiple instances of life and death. Who else could I do that with? I would tell you that I want that every day. And then would I have kissed you.” You stepped outside into the cool, quiet autumn air.

“But first,” you interjected, “I would have to tell you that I’ve been infatuated by you since that first assignment. You were the new guy and I was a little skeptical at first, but you proved me wrong so quickly. You were so cool under pressure and it calmed me down too. I would’ve told you that you’re still a calming presence in my life; that everything’s easier around you. I would’ve told you I couldn’t understand how anyone could let you go, and it made me angry, honestly. How could they get a chance with you and waste it when I couldn’t even get one?” His thumb rubbed across the back of your hand comfortingly. “I’d tell you that you’re the most beautiful soul I’ve ever met-- and that this look tonight almost killed me.”

“And then I’d kiss you.”

“And then you’d kiss me.”

And he did.

[duchessofostergotlands]

Hi, jess! I totally agree with you and I think a lot of people criticizing some of the met outfits haven’t really caught the idea behind them. I really loved the outfits who payed homage to some parts of american history and heritage that, in my opinion, were a bit forgotten by the majority of the guests there: jeremy pope’s tribute to enslaved black people; quannah chansinghorse’s to native american; naomi osaka’s to both her black and asian ancestry. I also loved rihanna saying “well I’m an immigrant and this is my take on american fashion” haha

I’m still a bit intrigued about kim kardashian’s outfit. I’ve seen many people say it’s a reference to kanye’s new album’s aesthetic and I think it’s the most probable answer. But I’ve also seen an analysis of it which I’d love to be the real one (although I highly doubt it): it could be a nod to the fact that, like her or not, she’s become an icon - she is recognizable by her silhouette, she doesn’t even have to show her face; like it or not, she has changed fashion in that big brands and stylists at first would’t even want to dress her, be it for her status as a reality star/b celebrity, be it for her body type (not saying she revolutionized or broke the standards for women’s body in a feminist way or anything, just saying stylists would much rather dress women with paris hilton’s body type back then) and now she’s definitely sought out by these brands.

Absolutely. I've seen a lot of people stating the theme was Americana so where was all the denim and cowboy outfits (there were a few). And sure, those things can be considered American staples (although denim is originally French, right? De Nîmes?) but the theme wasn't strictly Americana it was "In America." That encompasses so much more than apple pie and eagles. I was really glad to see those who paid respect to their heritage and identity and how it intersects with the image of the US.

Kind of related to that, and to Kim, I think what was interesting was hearing people talk about their looks. Normally I just look at pictures, this was the first year where I've watched the livestream of the red carpet and heard people have to explain their looks. Now I agree with others that given fashion is a visual art, it's much better if a look is easy for the viewer to translate but given this theme was so much about identity, it's impossible that me as a White Brit could ever get all the reference points off the bat but someone from that group absolutely would get it. And I think that leads us nicely to Kim. I actually really liked her outfit as a look in itself, if you take away the theme for a second. Kim isn't usually great at Met Gala looks in my opinion but this was bold and interesting and not "pretty" which is what I like from fashion. My issue really is that her explanation made no sense to me. In her caption on Instagram she said basically that it was a t-shirt dress because t-shirts are American? To me it didn't read as a t-shirt dress, it read as a morph suit, and I don't think the US has any special connection to t-shirts over and above any other nation anyway. There have been all these think pieces about what her outfit "meant" but her own explanation was pretty basic. So that actually made me like it less in a way.

[artificialqueens]

Galactica, Chapter 71 (Group Fic) - TheDane/Veronica

A/N: Fun fact: this rewrite is now the second-longest fic in the Drace Race RPF section of AO3. (Second only to the original story, lol.) So if you’re looking for a lot of content…we’ve got you. ;) Click here if you’re looking for previous chapters (or here if you’d rather read on AO3). 💫

Previously: Violet revealed her estranged relationship with her family to Sutan, and Courtney struggled to live up to Miss Fame’s demands.

This Chapter: Some uncharacteristic vulnerability from Violet, Met Gala meetings and morning television.

***

“Do you want more marshmallows?”

“I always want more marshmallows.”

Katya grinned as she got up from the kitchen table, grabbing Trixie’s mug to top them both up. They were decorating gingerbread men, Katya pulling them from the oven last night. Trixie was doing clothes, drawing in the lines and putting details on them, one of his favorite jobs.

It was a tradition of theirs, spending the Sunday before Christmas in their pajamas, preparing cookies and watching Home Alone, the leftover icing always ending up in the bedroom for some sticky afternoon fun.

***

“Aaaand release...”

“Oh god,” Sutan groaned, rolling onto his back and spreading out like a starfish. “I’m dead.”

When he had jokingly asked if he could join Violet for her yoga session, he hadn’t figured she’d say yes, and he definitely hadn’t expected that it’d be this hard, those last few breaths of extended child’s pose essentially torture where he could feel his bones bend and creak.

“Stop being so dramatic,” Violet grinned, his girlfriend sitting back on her knee, the leg with her cast spread out to the side. “We only did 40 minutes.”

“You’re not even sweating.” Sutan looked at her, Violet’s hair in a high ponytail, the Sunday look of one of his shirts and a sports bra quickly becoming a fave.

“Some of us remember to do more than weights and cardio, Mr. Amrull.”

“I’m texting my trainer right now,” Sutan reached over his head, grabbing his phone that he had left on the floor next to their mats, Violet giggling as she laid down next to him, putting her head on his shoulder.

“There,” Sutan pressed send, his trainer probably falling off of his chair when he read the message, Sutan always attempting to get away with the bare minimum when it came to exercise, but he refused to be humiliated by being unable to reach his toes.

He was just about to put his phone down, when Violet reached up and tapped the screen, his front camera opening up, both of them in frame as they were lying on the floor.

“What are you doing?”

“Taking a picture?” Violet smiled, her sarcastic tone never wavering. “To document the moment.”

Sutan looked at the screen. It was so incredibly tempting to say yes, to keep this moment in the private password protected collection that had steadily grown since Thanksgiving, Violet really and truly trying to let him take pictures, but he couldn’t say yes, not when he knew why she was so confident.

“And can I post it?”

“Post it?” Violet raised an eyebrow, sitting up on her elbows. “Why? Isn’t your hair...?”

“A mess?” Sutan didn’t want to smile, but it was impossible not to, Violet knowing him way too well if she had already figured out that he was sometimes embarrassingly vain about his hairstyle, the mess on his head looking like he had been fucking for an hour. “Yes, but I still want to post it.”

“I-” Violet had pulled away completely now, not a single trace of the sweetness left. “No.”

“Violet,” Sutan sat up as well, putting his phone down, “I know you hate social media, but you’re my girlfriend, and I don’t think what I ask for is unreasonable-”

“Sutan. Please” Violet grabbed her mat and rolled it together in an attempt to avoid him. “I said no.”

“And I’m pushing because I don’t understand.” Sutan could feel the annoyance build, the hurt and the rejection. It stung every single time Violet denied him, hurt every time she neglected what they had.

“I’m not saying we have to announce it with a workout selfie,” Sutan hated that they were fighting, but he couldn’t help himself, “but I want to tell the world that we’re together.”

“And I don’t-” Violet looked at him, her brown eyes filled with hurt. “If the world knows, they know, and I don’t want them to know where I am or what I’m doing.”

There it was. The they, the them, the family from Atlanta that was haunting his girlfriend's life like a shadow that had slowly started to creep into his too.

“Violet, I hate to be the one to tell you,” Sutan didn’t touch her, simply putting his hand down on the floor next to hers, telling her that he was there. “But the internet exists. If they have your name, they can find you, no matter what you do to hide.”

“Have you taken a moment to consider that they might not have that?”

Sutan paused, Violet’s words like a bomb.

“... What?”

Did her family not have her name? It was true that Violet Chachki barely got any hits on google, that it was Parson’s assignments and internships that popped up, the Galactica employee directory right at the top, but Sutan had never considered that possibility, had never even toyed with it.

“This wasn’t how I planned on telling you. Actually, I probably wasn’t counting on telling you at all, but I’m not…” Violet was fiddling with the tiniest hole in her yoga mat, her fingers tugging on the foam. “I wasn’t born Violet. Wasn’t even born a Chachki. Hasn’t it ever seemed weird to you that my last name literally means trinket?”

“It does?”

“Mmh,” Violet smiled, the same heavy sadness he had seen in the hospital in her eyes. “I needed to not be… Blair anymore.”

“Blair?”

“Yes,” Violet nodded. “Blair Dardo. It was my birth name. I never liked it, and I changed it the moment I turned 18, left it behind the second I could. That’s why I can’t,” Violet gestured vaguely to Sutan’s phone. “Changing it meant that they can’t, that they can’t find me, and I-”

Sutan didn’t know what to say, but it felt like he had just been given another puzzle piece in the mystery that was his girlfriend.

“I’m sorry.”

Violet’s head snapped to attention, her eyes widening in confusion. “...What?”

“I’m sorry.” Sutan said it again, making sure he put his genuine emotion behind the words. “I should have realized that you weren’t saying no to be difficult, and yet I kept pushing.”

“Sutan-” Violet still looked confused and a little suspicious, like she didn’t really understand what he was doing. “You don’t have to-”

“No but I do.” Sutan smiled. “I get it now, and I’m sorry, but next time you have a deep dark secret, maybe you could just tell me instead of this charade-”

Sutan was cut off as Violet threw herself in his arms, knocking him down on the floor and kissing him like her life depended on it, gratitude rolling off of her in waves.

***

“Raja?”

Alyssa held out the plate of croissants, Raja waving it away since she didn’t want one. The entire senior management team was gathered in the  conference room, Fame for some ungodly reason always insisting on a full breakfast spread for their Monday meetings, even though only a fraction of them ever actually ate any of it.

“So,” Fame looked around, a gold fountain pen in her hand, a black moleskin notebook open in front of her. “Any updates?”

The theme of today's meeting was the 2015 Met Gala, Raja barely hiding a groan when Courtney had sent out the meeting agenda.

It wasn’t that she disliked the Met Gala, the first Monday in May a spectacular party, but it was such a hassle getting there, the gala the fashion world's version of the Oscars.

“Yes,” Pearl smiled, turning around in her chair. She was weirdly chipper, her blonde hair collected in a clip, her signature leather jacket exchanged with a cropped black fur. “We have the final confirmation from Jessica Chastain’s team. She’s in.”

“Good,” Fame nodded, making a note in her moleskin, the fact that Fame was actually writing herself more than enough to cement the severity of the situation. Courtney was standing against the wall, Ivy sitting at the table with her computer open, typing away, but when it came to the Met, Fame left nothing up to chance.

“She’s looking forward to working with us, and she says she’s honored-”

“Yada yada yada,” Fame made a hand puppet, and Raja had to hide a smile, Pearl leaning back in her chair with a roll of her eyes, mouthing at everyone else that she’d send a follow up email.

It was Fame who had requested Jessica, in her own roundabout way, her friend casually mentioning to Raja that she had a good smile, which was more than enough for Raja to make Pearl offer her up as Galactica’s celebrity face.

It wasn’t every house who did it, but the big ones always had a celebrity at the gala, wearing their clothes and repping the brand.

“Does anyone know if they’ve moved away from the terrible theme yet?”

“It doesn’t seem like it,” Alaska offered up, the promotional material the Met had sent out at the start of the fall in the middle of the table thanks to Ivy’s forthsight. “It’s December, and since we haven’t heard anything, they’re sticking with China's influence on western fashion.”

“Good god, I was really hoping they had come to their senses.” Fame breathed out through her nose, and Raja had to agree with her. Sure, ‘China: Through the Looking Glass’ made sense as an art exhibition, but there was really no way to convert it to fashion without being culturally insensitive at best and offensively appropriative at worst.

Besides, Galactica had never been a brand that sought inspiration from the east in their designs and aesthetics, which made the entire situation quite the predicament.

“I’m sure we can work with it,” Trixie gave a small smile, the stack of papers by his elbow indicating that he had probably already put his senior designers to work coming up with concepts.

“And how,” Fame turned, looking directly at Trixie. “Are we supposed to work with it? Raja’s the only one who could possibly get away with being theme appropriate.”

Usually, Fame and Raja were the ones who walked the carpet together with their celebrity, Fame a nervous wreck for weeks before the gala because of all the strangers, while Raja enjoyed it because of her modeling days, seeing old acquaintances without the stresses of fashion week, a delightful yearly treat.

“I’m Indonesian.” Raja knew Fame didn’t mean anything by it, and she wasn’t that concerned about being politically correct herself, but everyone knew what it could mean for a fashion house to misstep, Dolce and Gabbana somehow walking directly from one scandal and into another one. “Not Chinese.”

“See?” Fame sighed, leaning back in her chair. “It’s a controversial time bomb. Either, we stay on theme, which I refuse since I look terrible in Chinese red, ”

“So we’re going off theme?” Trixie had picked up his papers, sorting through them, and Raja felt a moment of gratitude for their head of design, Trixie of course coming prepared with off-theme suggestions as well.

“Unless they get a grip and change it? Yes. Yes we are.”

*

“There!” Everyone held their breath as Maxwell pointed at Violet’s screen, an email from Ivy just ticking in, the Met Gala meeting still in full swing.

“Open it, Chachki!” Blu was practically biting her nails, hopping from one foot to the other, her red hair in a braid over her shoulder.

“Alright, alright-“ Violet clicked on the email, Bob standing right behind her, his eyes flying over the screen before he called out.

“It’s Jessica!”

A collective sigh of relief went through the floor, a loud ‘yes’ coming from Kiara who was clapping her hands together, the group breaking up, chatter filling the air.

“Thank god,” Maxwell groaned, putting a hand on Violet’s shoulder and giving it a squeeze. “I knew having you here would be worth it Chachki.”

“Right.” Violet raised an eyebrow, looking up at him, clearly not understanding why no one had thought to simply ask Ivy for updates before, the suggestion just casually slipping from her during morning coffee, the entire department running with it instantly. “But I still don’t-“

“Get it?” They turned to look over at Jovan who was sitting at his own desk, the man one of the few who hadn’t gathered around Violet’s computer.

“Yes.” Violet nodded. “If you needed information all this time, you could have just asked-”

“Like we could have just asked you?” Bob said, cutting her off and Violet opened her mouth, only to close it again. “Exactly.” Bob grinned. “You would have told us to fuck off.”

“I see your point.” Violet tapped her fingers on her desk, a small smile on her lips since everyone knew she would have said those exact words directly to their faces when she had been in Fame’s front office. “But, why is it such a big deal if a celeb is confirmed or not? The gala isn’t until May, that’s 4 months away and it’s three outfits. A whole collection is usually done in that time.”

“A collection doesn’t have to be approved by the celebrity,” Maxwell counted on his fingers, “the celebrity’s stylist, Vogue and Anna Wintour personally on top of Trixie, Raja and Fame. Alexis usually starts producing concepts in October.”

“As soon as they reveal the theme girl!” Alexis yelled over her shoulder, already pulling her sketches from their shelf, the confirmation meaning that she’d be in a meeting with Trixie for the rest of the day, working out the details of the first round of negotiations with the celebrity.

“Huh…” Violet looked around, the puzzled expression still on her face. “And what about-“

“Fame and Raja?”

Violet nodded.

“You’d think Fame would be the difficult one-“ Maxwell smiled.

“But make something gorgeous and custom in ivory and she’s on board,” Jovan grinned, putting the pen he was using behind his ear as he turned around in his chair. “Every year, she pretends like she’ll follow the theme, and then never does.”

“Exactly.” Maxwell nodded. “Fame is demanding, but consistent. Trixie has an entire drawer of Fame-appropriate outfits that we all contribute to whenever we have an idea.”

“That makes a disturbing amount of sense,” Violet looked mildly impressed, and if any of the rumors Maxwell had heard about how she had managed Fame’s front office, that approach wasn’t too far off from how Violet herself had attempted to tame the beast.

“Rule one of surviving at Galactica: Never disappoint Miss Fame. For once, however, Fame isn’t the problem.” Maxwell sighed, taking a seat on the edge of Violet’s desk. “Raja is.”

“Raja?” Violet looked genuinely surprised. “Really?”

“Yes really.” Maxwell crossed his arms. “Every year, she tells us that she’s chill, that she’ll wear whatever goes with the spring collection or the theme-“

“And every single year, she changes her mind at least four times.” Bob chimed in, the drama loving smirks on his lip. “More if you’re lucky.”

“Which is why,” Maxwell nudged Bob’s side with his elbow. “We’ve unanimously decided that you have the honor of dressing Raja for this year's Met Gala.”

“Me?” Violet’s eyes widened. “What? Why?” Violet looked at them, confusion painted on her face. “I’m the most junior member of staff.”

“True, but you’re also sucking her brother's dick,” Maxwell grinned, “so we figured she can’t kill you during the process, unlike the rest of us mere mortals.”

***

It should have been one of the most exciting mornings since Courtney started at Galactica--Miss Fame and Raja were being interviewed on a talk show, and so she got to go to the famous 30 Rockefeller Plaza building, and be on the set of a real television show. Unfortunately, it was such a whirlwind of activity and Miss Fame was in such a demanding mood that she didn’t have a second to enjoy it.

She felt like a chicken with its head cut off, running around in a hectic scramble to meet every request. Today was the last day before their holiday break, and even though Courtney knew that spending her break with Bianca would be incredible, she also knew that she had about a billion things to do before that could even start. Today was supposed to be a half day, but with how packed the schedule was, she’d be lucky to leave by 5.

She entered Miss Fame’s green room, silently handing her the coffee she’d asked for and then leaning on the wall to catch her breath. Miss Fame took a sip and then immediately spit the coffee back out.

“What is this?” she asked, holding the cup out like it was a bag of dog shit.

“It’s your usual-”

“This is not my usual. This is weak, and not hot enough, and-did you just roll your eyes?”

“No, Miss!” Courtney insisted, praying that she was telling the truth. She was tired, having arrived at the office at 6 am to drop off her stuff for Bianca’s, and there was a teeny tiny chance that she may have (accidentally) rolled her eyes. “Would you like a new-”

“Let me tell you something, Courtney. This may be the last day before a vacation, but I expect you to be fully present and accounted for. We have too many important things going on and I will not accept anything less than your absolute very best. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Miss.”

“Now. Please go find me some decent coffee before I get a migraine.”

“Yes, Miss.”

“And after you come back, I need you to go to the dry cleaners. I’ve decided to wear my ivory Valentino suit to meet the investors later.”

“Yes, Miss, will do.”

“That’s all,” Miss Fame said, waving her hand, and Courtney took off back down the labyrinthine hallways of 30 Rock to hunt down a coffee that would meet her standards.

***

“Good morning! Welcome back to Coast to Coast. I’m Nina West, and today we are positively blessed to have with us the icons of fashion, Miss Fame and Raja Gemini of Galactica, here to talk to us about dressing to impress in the new year, and their exciting new business ventures. Thank you so much for being here, ladies!”

“Thank you, we’re thrilled to be here,” Fame smiled, the lie easily falling out of her red painted lips.

Raja could see the way her hands were clenched in her lap, her wedding ring turned inward and digging into her palm, and knew that she was at her tensest.

Raja had long ago gotten used to giving live interviews. She had a laid-back attitude and while she always wanted to represent the company in the most flattering light, she tended to relax and let the conversation flow naturally.

Fame, however, had never quite gotten the hang of it in the same way. She was just so brand-conscious, almost to a debilitating degree, written interviews so much more her speed.

She always looked impeccable, very much the ice goddess she was so often called, but Fame had never gotten the same confidence in her speaking skills as Raja, who had been dragged through developing them in her modeling career.

Even though Fame hated being on live TV, they occasionally got an offer they couldn’t turn down, and between the makeup line being released in January and the overhaul of their website and online store, they had a lot to plug.

The whole thing was so stressful Fame had asked Raja four times to check her pits for sweat stains, her papers with facts from the makeup department and pointers from Pearl not leaving her hand until they literally had to go on.

Raja leaned forward, giving Fame’s shoulder a reassuring pat, and added, “This is our favorite show, we never miss it!”

“Aww, thank you!” said Nina, grinning. “Now, I’ve heard through the grapevine that you have an exciting announcement.”

“Yes, and we’re so happy to be able to share the news with your viewers first-”

“An exclusive!” Nina exclaimed, eyes comically wide and mouth open as if this was news to her.

“Yes, exactly. Early this year, we released a limited makeup line, and it’s been doing just wonderfully. So in 2015, we’re going to be rolling out a full line of makeup and skincare, with special edition palettes and colors all throughout the spring.”

“All natural, vegan, cruelty free...I always want the very best for my own skin and I wouldn’t offer our customers anything less,” Fame cut in, and Raja felt a surge of pride at how natural she sounded. All their rehearsing had clearly paid off.

“If you use it, I’ll use it!” Nina said with a chuckle. “You both have the most gorgeous skin I’ve ever seen.”

“We expect the first batch to sell out quickly,” Raja said, “So go straight to our website, Galactica dot com, and sign up to be part of the mailing list to receive alerts on all new product launches and where they’ll show up in stores.”

“I’m doing that, the second we go to commercials,” Nina said. “But first, I heard that there’s more news about your spring line...”

***

Patrick reached for the remote, turning off the TV as Nina West rounded out the segment with Fame and Raja.

He was sitting in his office, wrapping up the last details before the firm could close down for the holiday break.

Fame had done a great job, the nerves he knew she had felt not showing on her beautiful face. Patrick picked up his phone, a smile on his lips as he started to type out a text.

Fame would probably not read it until she left work for the day, but he was proud of her, and he hoped that she was proud of herself too.

***

Fame collapsed onto her dressing room sofa, completely emotionally drained, the crystals she had stuffed in her bra digging against her skin.

Being on camera for live television always took up every drop of energy, and left her with nothing to spare. Unfortunately, she knew that she didn’t have much time to rest, since she was due at the Russian Tea Room to meet her potential investors in less than an hour. The makeup artist they’d hired was standing by for touch-ups, and her ivory Valentino suit hung in its dry cleaning bag on the clothing rack. But first, she knew that her blood sugar was dangerously low, so she needed…

She looked around. Where on earth was Courtney? Fame had never met someone with such a tendency to be underfoot at the worst times and completely MIA when her presence was required. She walked to the doorway, spotting Courtney having a casual chat with a girl in a headset, carefree as anything.

“Courtney!” she snapped, and Courtney looked up, surprised, even though she was literally here for the sole purpose of taking care of Fame’s needs. “Come!”

Fame turned and walked back into her dressing room, irritated, the rapid click of Courtney’s heels as she ran over grating on her nerves.

“Yes, Miss?”

“I need to eat.”

“Oh…” Courtney’s gaze shifted to the table, where a fruit basket sat amongst assorted pastries and other snack food.

“Not that sugary garbage,” Fame explained. “Violet always had- Don’t you have any protein bars?”

“Oh, of course!” Courtney exclaimed, rummaging through her purse.

Fame rolled her eyes, sighing. That girl truly was useless. What Bianca saw in her, Fame would never understand. She took one of the protein bars that Courtney had carefully lined up on the arm of the sofa beside her.

“I think you’d better head back to the office and prepare the conference room for the investor presentation.”

“Oh, but did you need anything el-”

“No, I’m much more concerned with the meeting,” Fame said. “Everything needs to be perfect. These people will be paying attention to every little detail.”

“Yes, Miss.”

“Oh, and take this back with you…” Fame handed over a large manila envelope. “It’s some sketches I’ve been working on.”

“Sure.” Courtney began to put the envelope into her bag, and Fame’s eyes widened with alarm.

“Don’t bend them! For god’s sake…”

“Sorry Miss,” Courtney said, biting her lip, holding the envelope at her side. “Is there anything else you need before I-”

“No. That’s all.”

***

Courtney sat in the back of a cab, eyes squeezed tightly shut, using the time in traffic to center herself and go over her massive to do list. She had to make sure that all the presentations for the meeting were set up, work with IT to test it, messenger out the holiday gifts that Miss Fame added at the last minute, make sure the schedule for January was in order, set up her out of office reply…

Plus, the meeting with the investors wouldn’t begin until they were back from the restaurant, so the “half day” was looking more and more like a full day. At this point, settling in at Bianca’s felt like it was a million years away--and traffic crawling at a standstill didn’t help anything.

She pulled out her phone. Maybe she could set up some of the gift deliveries now, while she was stuck in the cab.

When they were finally in sight of the Galactica building, her phone started buzzing. She looked at the screen. Miss Fame. That couldn’t be anything good.

Courtney took a deep breath and answered, stomach tightening.

“Hello?”

“Courtney!” Miss Fame’s voice was sharp, sharper than usual. “Do you ever use your head? Or do you just go through life without a shred of critical thinking?”

It was fairly obvious that it was a rhetorical question, so Courtney kept her mouth shut, wondering what had gone wrong, what mess she’d have to clean up now.

[theformoffashion]

Rick Owens

This Mexican-American designer has taken a grip on the fashion community and fashion enthusiasts because of his minimalistic yet intriguing pieces. He is a man dedicated to his art, from the way he designs, to the way he dresses, and even her muse and companion Michel Lamy. Who is a force of her own, so we’ll dedicate another post to her.

The way he creates is very interesting, since it’s really is not for everyone, yet all his designs are very sellable and the sales are a huge success. Everyone wants some Rick Owens.

Human Backpacks: Rick Owens SS16

“Loving Ribbons” as he called these women bound together, was a show that symbolizes the feminine bond between women, as bizarre as it looked, it was his way of expressing sisterhood and nourishment, of course, accompanied with his well known clothes in a minimal palette such as black, white, gray and nude, with interesting hugging silhouettes.

This show, as per usual, gave something to talk about, to enjoy the shock factor with a meaning past the eye, as well as admiring his new and intriguing pieces for that collection.

https://www.dazeddigital.com/fashion/article/26840/1/what-you-need-to-understand-about-rick-owens-human-backpacks

Owens always combines the minimal with the extraordinary. We can see that through his furniture too. There are pieces available at some of his stores and they look like this:

https://twitter.com/streetfashion01/status/1293167469931171840?s=21

https://i.pinimg.com/750x/cf/90/dd/cf90dd64a2030550706122a81886ceee.jpg

In the picture of the chairs, we can see the contrast between the piece of art that are his chairs yet the minimalist space of the store, with few clothes hanging, and the choice of color palette.

Owens is very successful at giving people something to always be in awe, to make them have an experience or bond with their product, is something more than just a piece of clothing, what represents, and the mind where it comes from, yet they are versatile pieces that can be worn to give a show or just enjoy a night out. We can see how some celebrities have worn his pieces to red carpets and several other events, they look amazing, the clothes are beautiful, and yet he is able to express his message.

Rosalia wearing custom Rick Owens at the 2021 Met Gala

Kim Kardashian wearing Spring 2022 Ready To Wear

Kendall Jenner wearing Rick Owens Spring 2020 Ready To Wear for the cover of Architectural Digest

https://twitter.com/sadaboutchiffon/status/1437597062149787651?s=21

https://www.google.com.mx/amp/s/footwearnews.com/2021/fashion/celebrity-style/kim-kardashian-paris-hilton-wedding-black-rick-owens-dress-1203210057/amp/

https://www.google.com.mx/amp/s/footwearnews.com/2021/fashion/celebrity-style/kim-kardashian-paris-hilton-wedding-black-rick-owens-dress-1203210057/amp/

[bisluthq]

Kaylor Rises?

We’ll never know the mechanics or reasons for Joshlie going on a break (or even if they just decided to be more casual for a bit). Maybe it was Taylor related, maybe it was all the stuff with his family, maybe it was the spectre of differing religions, maybe it was the age gap, maybe he started to agree that a ‘lingerie model’ was unsuitable in the long run… But one fact we do know, from investigative journalism done on the Kushners and also from looking at contemporaneous gossip blogs is: Joshlie have taken breaks. We don’t know exactly exactly how many, or why. But we know that they did. Again, this is one of the biggest pieces of ‘evidence’ that they’re real because why bother faking problems and breaks? Why not present yourselves as head-over-heels? It doesn’t make sense, but it’s what happened. And it also opens the door to some romantic!Kaylor. And in March 2014, Josh disappears from the picture and Taylor is suddenly a massive presence - way beyond the fun, highkey promotion we saw up till now. 

1 March 2014 - We see Kaylor both attend a Pre-Oscar Party. I think a Joshlie break was what led Karlie to go to LA and stay with Taylor. At this stage, they’d known each other publicly for about five months but, if we factor in possible negotiations, they might have known each other for much longer. I really do think they were good friends by this stage, because Taylor is a terrible actress and they clearly really enjoyed each other’s company. It was as good a place as any for Karlie to go and lick wounds. 

2 March 2014 - Kaylor attend the Vanity Fair Oscar Party and the Vogue profile talks about this being where they connected and decided to do the road trip: “A few months later they saw each other again at an Oscars after-party, and Kloss suggested they do something spontaneous. “I’d been to Big Sur once before, and I was like, ‘We should just do it,’ ” says Swift.” I suspect this story is a bit of a lie - but I do think it is true that they hooked up around this time, and decided to take a road trip to Big Sur. Taylor had been there once before, with Jake Gyllenhaal. Karlie had never been. It’s interesting that for Taylor it was already a “romantic” place, at the very least publicly, and it’s where she decided to go with Karlie at this point. 

Also, in terms of the “lie” factor - they’re saying this is where they reconnected but they were partying together the literal night before. So they’re obviously blurring reality a bit in the interview. Which is okay, maybe they misremembered or misspoke. But when factored into a pattern, it seems an odd thing to get confused about. 

The road trip itself is ICONIC. Taylor allegedly plays Karlie the whole of 1989. They take a million gorgeous photos. The daisy thing happens. 

5 March 2014 - Karlie posts the ‘Karlie loves Taylor’ sand pic. Taylor likes.

5 March 2014 - Karlie posts the ‘best road trip ever’ daisy pic.

5 March 2014 - Karlie posts the ‘adventure of a lifetime with my girl’ cheek kiss selfie.

5 March 2014 - Karlie posts a pic of her and Taylor with the caption, ‘woah, what a view huh?’

5 March 2014 - Karlie posts the pic of her hugging Taylor from behind.

5 March 2014 - Karlie posts a picture of herself apparently taken by Taylor.

5 March 2014 - Karlie posts a picture of her and Taylor jumping with the caption ‘❤️’

5 March 2014 - Taylor posts a picture of them and captions it ‘On the Way Home’ - possibly a reference to YAIL. 

When they return, things still seem very, very good in Kaylor Land.

12 March 2014 - Karlie attends the Art Production Fund’s White Glove Gala without Josh.

24 March 2014 - Taylor diaries that she’s moved into her Tribeca apartment in the “last few weeks” which means they are in the same city and that, when Karlie was in LA, Tay was still permanently based there. 

1 April 2014 - Karlie attends The New Museum annual Spring Gala without Josh.

1 April 2014 - Josh attends a New York Observer event without Karlie. His family is out in full force - again, this is their family business. It’s actually really odd that he is there on his own. Oh, and by the way - Mikey Hess isn’t there either lmao. 

3 April 2014 - Kaylor go to the gym and then out for lunch at the Butcher’s Daughter (which, for the record, is very close to Josh’s apartment but since he and Karlie have not interacted publicly in well over a month that seems irrelevant). They are papped continuously on both halves of the date. 

14 April 2014 - Kaylor are papped in NYC.

21 April 2014 - Taylor is papped with Cara and the articles that follow are all about “gal pals”. I do not think Cara and Taylor were together at this point but it’s vital to see the rollout of the “Girl Squad” PR strategy. It was not just about Karlie. Karlie was meant to be the ‘main’ Squad girl, but there were others.

26 April 2014 - Kaylor are papped in NYC

2 May 2014 - Karlie brings Derek as her +1 to the memorial service for L’Wren Scott.

4 May 2014 - Karlie posts a photo of herself with Taylor and Kate Bosworth at The Jane Hotel for Harry Josh’s party.

5 May 2014 - Kaylor get ready together and then attend the Met together. Josh is also there with his brother and Ivanka. Kaylor interact with the Kushners because this photo gets taken. We also get this pic (peep Tay’s dress in the background). Karlie sits at a table with Josh, and Taylor sits very, very far away. (Here is a pic of them seated). Now, it’s possible the tickets were booked and the seating arrangements made well before Joshlie went on a break. Or it’s possible going there was just a stunt and Karlie and Josh were very much together.

If Josh was a beard contract, this would’ve been reversed. Karlie would have showed up and walked the red carpet with Josh and sat with Taylor once inside. Instead, Karlie was papped with Taylor on the outside, and sat in the cheap seats with Josh, on the other side of the room from Taylor, once inside. If Josh and Karlie both needed a beard, why would they allow Karlie to show up and walk the red carpet with her girlfriend when they both attended the event?

And here’s what’s interesting: Taylor references this evening extensively at the end of the Wildest Dreams MV. She closely replicates the outfits - Karlie’s, Josh’s and her own - and casts herself as the “other woman”. It’s a telling video because that twist in the end is not necessary for the song to make sense (at all), Tay’s character is hurt and surprised by the MV love interest having a partner, and in the end the love interest’s feelings seem genuine as he runs after her - but she’s already gone. It’s a pretty loud scene in all and I’m not sure how else to interpret it, really. It’s also interesting that Tay’s character in the video falls in love with her ‘onscreen’ partner - kind of how Kaylor probably started as somewhat scripted ‘Famous Friends’ but possibly grew feelings.

Taylor also references this evening in LWYMMD when a 2014 Met Taylor appears several times. A zombie Taylor wearing the dress she wore in the OOTW MV buries a Taylor wearing this 2014 Met Gala dress and later she appears again. Considering all the other “Taylors” are extremely iconic (for example Kanye interrupting dress), I’m not sure why 2014 Met Gala Tay is here. It’s not the best example of one of her princess dresses… It’s not indicative of an ‘era’...

Unless the evening was important to Taylor herself, and the most logical reason for that would be Joshlie. It seems that this was the night that Tay, like her character in the MV, found herself cast in the unfortunate role of “other woman” - a part she would have struggled with ever since. So, with that in mind, here are some photos of Kaylor from that night where Taylor looks miserable: x x x

12 May 2014 - Karlie attends the American Ballet Theatre Opening Night Spring Gala alone.

15 May 2014 - An article with People comes out where Taylor makes getting ready with Karlie sound like a fun pre-prom time, proving the earlier point that them showing up together was part of their PR relationship.

Early May 2014 - Kaylor go for dinner at Toni Garrn’s, further debunking Korlie rumors.

22 May 2014 - Karlie attends amfAR’s 21st Cinema Against AIDS Gala alone.

CONCLUSION: From late February/early March it seemed as though Kaylor were together and possibly exclusive or at least getting somewhat serious. However, in early May Josh and Karlie reconnected around the time of the Met Gala - that’s what the Wildest Dreams MV seems to suggest at least. The fact that they interacted and sat together despite not apparently going ‘together’ is very loud. 

However, Joshlie were not fully back together at this Met Gala stage. I believe they reunited proper only at the end of May, at which point the Kaylor dynamic shifted gears.

However… the contract for the publicity deal was still in place and they had to carry on carrying on. It’s telling that their respective close friends didn’t exactly warm up to one another - their personal friend groups never really meshed. This contradicts the het narrative of them being just extremely great friends. If they really were, why wouldn’t they be hanging out with each other’s main people (in very simple terms, people like Derek and Abigail)? And before you @me, a few likes are not great evidence of hangouts - Josh also liked a bunch of Tay’s posts, and it’s pretty clear they were never friends.

More likely, Karlie and Taylor hooked up… And, of course, Karlie was an important part of this era’s publicity rollout. And that’s where things got messy.

[lacetulle]

Hey there! Aspiring fashion designer here! I'm getting more and more into fashion and designing/ planning more and more outfits and I was wondering if you have any tips to get more into haute contour and fashion in general. Your blog has really helped me get a grasp of what I like and I all around love it!

I’m happy this blog could help in figuring out what styles you like! There are a ton of different mediums to get into fashion! I’ve compiled a list of options via videos, websites, and books. So strap in, this is a long post.

Since you already have an idea of who you like, I always suggest reading up on that brand/label/designer and going through their archives. For me, when I realized how much I loved Dior and knew I wanted to learn more, it was overwhelming at times because the label has such a long history. If you really like newer labels, like Zuhair Murad, Elie Saab, Iris van Herpen, etc., it’s a little more manageable to read up on the history and designers just because they were founded in the ‘90s/‘00s.

In terms of websites, I have a few to talk about.

Vogue. This is the easiest avenue to get into fashion. I’m not knocking it, because I use it the most for photos, but as far as websites go, it’s the most dumbed-down. But I mean that in the best way! The features, trend reports, and runway news appeals to even the most casual fashion fan. Vogue focuses mainly on big name/commercialized brands (Dior, Valentino, Gucci, etc.) rather than smaller ones (like Guo Pei and Ralph & Russo, two big couture names these days, get minimal coverage with Vogue). Vogue is a great resource for runway looks...it was my gateway into studying older runway collections. All in all, in terms of websites, Vogue is the tip of the fashion media iceberg.  If you want to get into the more meatier parts of fashion, there are better sites.

Harper’s Bazaar. Like Vogue, it’s easy to navigate and leans more towards the more well-known fashion brands. Pre-covid, they always had a weekly street style recap as well. They have great lists but stay away from the business side of fashion. I typically use Harper’s Bazaar for the street style/every day fashion inspiration and news.

Who What Wear. A great site for following trends. They don’t focus so much on brands, but it’s a great resource for seeing what’s trending and options to buy said trends. For example, Who What Wear is the first place I went when I wanted to find a list of brands who were starting to sell masks.

WWD. Supposedly most designers prefer WWD to Vogue coverage.  And it shows, since parts of the site require a subscription. WWD is one of the more technical sites and could be overwhelming for someone who doesn’t really understand the industry. They talk about the comings-and-goings of creative directors, financial news, and general fashion trends/news. It also has runway recaps and photos, which is typically what I use it for. If you’re really want to be in the know with breaking fashion news, they do offer email newsletters as well for a more condensed version of the site. Also, a super helpful page I’ve had bookmarked, their fashion dictionary.

Business of Fashion.  The name is pretty self-explanatory.  BoF is another one of those meatier sites that could be overwhelming at first. It’s also one that has a subscription service. BoF has great profiles of designers, so I’ve used the site as my starting point when learning about someone new. The BoF500 also showcases anyone and everyone who has a hand in shaping the industry.

The Impression. The cheapest of the subscription sites and the one I had until I cancelled a few months ago (not because it sucked, but, you know…corona). I mainly used them for their runway pictures. They were so fast to upload them, with details and backstage footage. The big draw is the fashion week/runway photography, but the talk about street style, short films and ads from brands, as well as fashion trends. At the end of every fashion week (New York, Milan, Paris, etc.) the put together a recap list of biggest trends, top shows, top models, and break down the numbers. I love the site for its minimalism and whenever the industry decides to have fashion weeks again, I’ll renew my subscription.

Magazines:  Most people would say Vogue is the holy grail for fashion magazines, but I don’t think it’s that great (at least the US version).  Vogue Paris, Italia, and UK are better in my opinion. And just because I don’t think the print version of US Vogue is the holy grail, doesn’t mean I don’t like it.  I have a subscription and read it every month. Other options I really like are Harper’s Bazaar (any country’s version), Elle, InStyle, and W.

Videos: Other than the first one listed (which can be found on Netflix or Hulu, depending where you live), everything can be found on youtube. And now i’m constantly getting fashion recommendations on youtube, so it’s an easy rabbit hole to fall into.

First Monday in May. I’ve talked about this documentary before, but it bears repeating.  It’s a gorgeous journey of how the Met Gala and Costume Institute Exhibit was put together. It’s about the ‘China: Through the Looking Glass’ exhibit in 2015. They interview big designers about how China has influenced some of their collections, and takes on the debate of whether fashion should even be in a museum. It was the first fashion documentary I ever watched and only made me fall more in love with fashion (and want to see every fashion exhibition).

The September Issue. Vogue’s September issues are always the biggest of the year.  This documentary follows the process of designing the famous September issue of Vogue. I believe it was filmed in 2007 or 2008 so it’s dated, and digital media has changed the game, but it’s a good watch to see just how influential and important the September issue is in terms of forecasting fashion trends for the following year.

Savoir Faire: Christian Dior Haute Couture Spring/Summer 2011. A 50 minute video on how one, just one, piece from the couture collection was designed.  It’s a great insight on just how much work goes in to creating a couture collection.

7 Days Out with Karl Lagerfeld. Another great showcase of the week leading up to a couture show, this time with Chanel. The documentary follows the 2018 show, which is one of Lagerfeld’s last few couture shows before his death.

Battle At Versailles: The Competition that Shook the Fashion Industry. It’s no secret that Paris is the epicenter of fashion.  The couture houses are all based there, so France is typically where you needed to be to be a world renowned designer. In 1973 French and American designers competed against each other and brought American designers into the spotlight. There’s an hour long documentary on youtube and there’s a book that I’ve linked below. I’ve seen the video and I’m currently reading the book, so you have options here.

Christian Dior: Designer of Dreams. A good look at the Musée des Arts Décoratifs exhibit for the 70th anniversary of Dior. This documentary gives a nice, condensed look at each of the artistic directors of Dior and showcases some of the most iconic Dior looks. I knew about it, but didn’t go see it. I only saw pictures, which were beautiful…but to see it all come together on video was a dream.  They talk to Celine Dion for a minute at the end, and her words sum up my feelings best about Dior, “I would love to wear one of these dresses one day, maybe in one of my lifetimes, or every night in my dreams.”

Books:

Inside Haute Couture: Behinds the Scenes at the Paris Ateliers. A gorgeous book with tons of photos about the intricacies that go in to a couture collection.

Kate Spade New York: All in Good Taste. I originally bought it for my coffee table collection, but it has some great style tips.

The Battle of Versailles: The Night American Fashion Stumbled into the Spotlight and Made History. Just in case you’d rather read about this legendary fashion show than watch. I’m currently reading it, so I can’t give you my final take on it. But I’m loving it so far.

Dior by Dior: Christian Dior’s autobiography. Who better to tell you about the history of Christian Dior, than Dior himself.

Elsa Schiaparelli: A Biography. I’m a big fan of Schiaparelli and would love for her legacy to be more widely known. She was a very private person, so when this biography dropped I was excited to read more about her. Elsa Schiaparelli was Coco Chanel’s biggest rival and was a household name in her time, but most people know Coco’s name over Elsa’s today. This is a nice dive into Schiaparelli’s life, since most people focus on Chanel’s legacy (and let’s be honest, Chanel is very idolized, which is so unfortunate, given her Nazi ties, but I digress.)

Gods and Kings: The Rise and Fall of Alexander McQueen and John Galliano. I tend to rave about the designs by these two, so it’s a good look into their journey in fashion.

The Beautiful Fall: Fashion, Genuis, and Glorious Excess in 1970s Paris. If you’re interested in Lagerfeld (pre-Chanel days) or Yves Saint Laurent, it’s a great retrospective look at their rivalry.

Champagne Supernovas. If ‘90s fashion is something of interest, this book is a great read on how some big name rebels (McQueen, Marc Jacobs, Kate Moss, etc.) in the industry remade fashion as we know it.

Any of the Met Gala books: Camp: Notes on Fashion, Alexander McQueen: Savage Beauty, Manus x Machina, Heavenly Bodies, etc.  My first one was the McQueen book, and at the time I didn’t know it was the official book from the Costume Institute Exhibit.  They’re not all hardcover coffee table-esque books, but if you can’t attend an exhibit it’s the next best thing. They’re all great in-depth resources for learning about a certain area of fashion. They can be expensive, so I wouldn’t suggest investing in them unless you’re truly interested in that specific aspect of the industry. This year’s exhibit - whenever it opens - is About Time: Fashion and Duration.  The exhibition book is already available and I think it’ll be an incredible exhibit of how current designers pull from older designers and trends.

The Fashion Book.  It’s expensive. It’s massive. And it gives you a wealth of information. It’s essentially an encyclopedia for fashion. It’s not just designers; it highlights models, high profile photographers, style icons, and all those who influenced fashion.

I know this was long, but these have been the resources I’ve used over the years. I hope this can help you along your journey and if anyone has other things to add, please do!